Bolt
by mpenguinn
Summary: It's been five hundred and eight days since Beth was taken from Daryl. The group has long moved on, having sought out new refuge in Virginia. He's returned to Georgia time and time again. She was gone, but he would find her—and he does. But being on her own has changed Beth, and she's not the same innocent girl he remembers. Bethyl AU
1. Chapter 1

**This is the first fanfic I've ever attempted, aaaaah. Just the first chapter, but please read and review? I'm curious to hear everyone's opinion on telling this in first person with alternating point of views. I wanted to show a different Beth. What she'd be like if she'd had to survive on her own for an extended period of time. Maybe more emotionally stunted? With Daryl being the somewhat stable one of the two. You'll probably get a glimpse of the groups living situation in the next chapter. I want to focus more on characters with less action so they've got a pretty sweet setup. If I get even one favorite/follow/review on this I'll be giddy enough to post more! Lol  
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**_Daryl_**

I knew this was a bad idea. Knew it before we even left camp. And now that I'm chasing this damn hysterical girl and her greyhound into the woods, I see I was right. Usually am about these things.

It's not the dog I'm worried about. He can hold his own in this world. Hell, he's probably the only reason she's survived this long. The girl is another story—idiot finds trouble more often than not.

"Lemon," I hiss. "Stop."

I know she hears me, because she glances back long enough to trip up on a protruding tree root. Doesn't slow her down for long though. She's scrambling to her feet just as I catch up, and my outstretched hand grazes the back of her t-shirt as she bounds forward.

Makes no sense. Girl's got a knack for running, not fighting. She doesn't even kill walkers. She avoids them. That's why she had no business charging into the unknown after we heard the scream. And yet here we are.

I hear a ruckus ahead, and I know we're getting closer. A few walker moans, but worse than that, the undeniable sound of a fight. Sounds like someone just got socked in the jaw. It's followed by a grunt, and I decide it must've been the gut.

The dog, Duke, lurches into a clearing ahead and moments later I hear his low growl. Lemon stops in her tracks. A growl from Duke is never good, means whatever we're dealing with isn't pretty. I'd concluded as much though, so I continue onward, slowing my pace as I near the tree line, careful not to give away my position by disturbing any of the brush.

I stop when I catch my first glimpse of the group. Everything slows down for a moment. Duke is making a wide circle around them, ready to lurch. The scream we heard has drawn a few walkers out. They're slow and weak, but they're making their way to the tussle.

With a glance, I take quick note of everything that's happening. There are two men. One with a rifle on his back, and another with a handgun, still holstered on his belt. There's a crossbow on the ground, carelessly tossed aside. They're both preoccupied by the girl between them.

She has her knife out, constantly pivoting as she defends herself against their advances. Her shirt is torn open at the front, and there's a bloody cut above her eyebrow. She's covered in so much soot it's hard to make anything else out.

I feel a hot rage rise through my middle. Two grown men. Coulda taken her down by now. They're toying with her though. Assholes.

One of the men steps forward and she moves quickly, kicking him just below the knee, knife raised and ready to strike. The man with the pistol laughs as he comes up behind her and takes hold of her right wrist, planting his other hand in her hair. He yanks her back hard, and I step into the clearing, fully intending to send both of these assholes straight to hell.

Before I can fire off a shot, everything starts happening at once. He fails to secure her left arm, and she jams her elbow into his gut, slamming her foot down on his instep at the same time. Duke lunges at the man with the rifle as he attempts to get control of the attacking girl. He bites down on his leg, just above the ankle, snarling and shaking his head back and forth with such power the man is pulled to the ground. He cries out, and I know the dog is getting ligament.

Duke lets go and latches onto his shoulder when he makes a move for his gun. A couple of walkers are closing in on the dog, so I fire a bolt through the eye socket of the closest before reloading and doing the same with the second. I take quick note of the others, all too far away to be immediate threats.

The man and the girl are on the ground now. He gets hold of both her arms, but she rears back and slams her forehead against his, hard. It stuns him for a moment, and his grip loosens enough for her to wiggle free. With lightning quick speed she jams her blade into his right knee.

At the same time, the second man is getting a hand on his rifle, but I put a bolt through the side of his head before he gets the chance to raise it. The man and the woman are wrestling for control as he reaches for his weapon.

I go for my pistol, but Duke is sinking his teeth into the back of his neck before I even get a hand on my holster. It gives the girl enough time to scramble across the ground and get a hand on the discarded crossbow. His hands are on the gun now, but a bolt hits him square in the chest before he can draw on her. Her bolt.

And just like that it's over.

She's left on the ground with Duke, her ragged breaths even louder than the moans of the slow approaching walkers. I'm only a few yards away now, but she's seems oblivious to the rest of the world. Something brushes against my arm, and I realize it's Lemon.

We watch in silence as the girl holds a hand out to the dog. After a hesitant moment, he approaches. She pats him on the head once and says, "I owe you a squirrel."

And then she promptly passes out.

Lemon flies past me all of the sudden. "Come on!" She looks back at me, eyes wide and wild. "We have to get her out of here! The walkers."

I swing my Horton over my shoulder and nod, closing the remaining distance in a few big strides. I nudge my head at the crossbow beside the girl's hand. "Grab it."

Lemon obeys, and I hoist the girl into my arms. Walkers are coming from all sides now, but there's not much I can do without freeing my hands—ain't doing that though. I just watched this girl fight for her life, no chance in hell I'm gonna lay her back down to die. Instead, I let Lemon and Duke take the lead, following as they weave their way through the stumbling corpses, trying to ignore the weird fluttering in my stomach as we run.

* * *

><p>When we get her back to the store we're using as temporary camp, I lay her on one of the sleeping bags spread out on the floor. Lemon starts breezing around the room as she gathers up a few bottles of water and a some towels. I stand by the door, feeling uncertain. I'd hoped Michonne would be back from her run by now. Ain't neither of us good at this kind of thing, but she'd be better help than me.<p>

Eventually I sink to my knees beside the girl and watch Lemon work. She soaks one of the rags with water and starts wiping the blood and muck from the girl's face.

It's the first chance I've had to actually _look_ at her since that first glimpse in the woods and my mouth goes dry. My throat gets tight. I blink hard, twice. Shut my eyes tight and open them when that doesn't do the trick.

What I'm seeing—_who_ I'm seeing— it simply isn't possible. I knew I'd never see her again when the group moved on from Atlanta. I'd accepted it. It'd hurt like hell, but I came to terms. She was lost. Gone. And that's why she can't be here now. Not two states away from Georgia in the hills of North Carolina. Not right in front of my eyes. Just can't be. Must be seeing things again.

Just when I've convinced myself I'm out of my damn mind, her blue eyes flutter open and she blinks a few times. Even that small amount of movement looks weak, like she might lose consciousness again.

I lean over her and take her head in my hands. It takes me a moment to speak, and when I do my voice shakes. "Beth?"

"Beth," I say her name again, the sound of blood rushing through my ears. "It's me Daryl."

"Hey." The corner of her mouth tilts up. "Guess you finally made it out of Georgia," she says, her voice barely even there, before she passes out again.

I'm overcome with emotion as I pull her up, hauling her into my lap as I hold her against my chest. I know I need to let go so Lemon can tend to her, but I can't. I can't let her go. I tried that once. Five hundred and eight days ago when I lost her. _Five hundred and eight days_. Not doing that again. Ain't ever gonna go another day without her.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

When I come to, I open my eyes slowly. Everything is fuzzy and seems far away. I think I might be dreaming. The room is dark and cool, but I'm on something soft. Something unfamiliar. More alarming that that, I'm next to something warm—or rather _someone_.

I turn over slowly, every achy muscle in my body protesting until I make it onto my side. My head feels weird. I decide I might be hallucinating—seems most likely. Especially now that I see the warm someone that's next to me. It's hard to make out much in the moonlight filtering through the windows, but I can tell he's awake, laying on his side and watching me with a strange expression on his face. Like he thinks he might be hallucinating too.

"Daryl?" my voice cracks as I struggle to get the word out.

He sits up suddenly and reaches for something. Moments later he's holding the brim of a bottle to my lips. "Drink."

I lift up a little and take a few slow sips before lowering back down.

He puts a gentle hand on the back of my head to stop me. "More," he coaxes.

I take another drink, but it makes me feel dizzy so I shake my head. He must understand, because he sets the bottle aside. He scrubs his hands over his face a few times, looking unsure of himself. After a hesitant moment, he lowers himself back down.

We're on our sides, facing one another. Not close enough to touch, but I can feel his body warmth. It's nice. We stay that way for awhile.

"Is this a dream?" I finally ask.

He shakes his head. He looks like he wants to reach out and touch me, but makes no move. I wish he would. There's a knot in my chest that's making me feel off balance, like maybe I'm about to come apart at the seams.

The weird haze clouding my thoughts is making me feel like I'm floating. In a bad, dizzy way. "Am I dead?"

"No, you're safe." He swallows hard. "Do you remember yesterday? The woods?"

I think hard for a moment, and a few snippets come back. The two men. The fighting. I remember the fighting. Thinking I was gonna die. The dog that came out of nowhere. I remember the men most though. Remember them ripping my shirt open and the feel of their grimy hands on my skin. Remember everything they said they were gonna do me. Remember wanting to die before any of it happened.

"No," I lie even though it doesn't help the hollow that seems to be swallowing me whole. "I don't remember."

"You probably have a concussion," someone across the room says. I think I've heard her voice before, but I don't think on it too hard.

I nod, not bothering to acknowledge the fact that I shouldn't be sleeping if I do, because I don't really care.

Daryl reaches out and touches my shoulder. "You should rest."

My eyelids do feel heavy, but I fight to keep them open. I have questions I need to ask, but all I can manage is, "You find them?"

"Yeah." He sounds sad. "Glenn, Maggie, Rick, Carl, Sasha, Tyreese. Judith. Michonne too. She's outside, keepin' watch. I can take you to the rest tomorrow."

Everything feels like it's unraveling around me. I don't know what to say. Don't even know what I feel.

"You been with any others?" he asks. "Have camp? Anyone else?"

"No," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "It's just been me."

My own admission feels like it breaks me in half. I say it again. "It's just been me. I've been alone."

He watches as I fall apart. I don't want to let him see me cry, but everything suddenly feels heavy. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him as the first tear falls over my lash line. I burrow my head into his chest, and I cry. I cry until I'm exhausted. I cry until I fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Hope you like this chapter. Still kind of skimming the surface with the Bethyl stuff. She's a little standoffish at this point. Leave me a review and let me know what you think! **

_**Daryl**_

I wake with a jolt the next morning. The space beside me is empty, and it sends me into a panic. I push myself to my feet and stumble toward the door, barely managing to grab my bow as I go.

Michonne is there, leaned up against the back of the SUV, eating an apple. She nudges her head at the creek when she sees me. "She's at the water, cleaning up. Lemon's down there too."

I hadn't realized how tense I was until I feel my body relax. "She seem okay?"

Michonne shrugs. "She went back into the woods to get her knife this morning. I followed to keep an eye on her, didn't come into any trouble. She seems skittish, though. Haven't managed to get much out of her."

Makes sense. Her being on her own for so long and all. The thought stings like a motherfucker. Hearing her say it last night had practically gutted me. Never had the urge to protect anyone the way I want to protect her. It's not new. When the prison fell, and everyone was separated, I felt the same. It's different now though, overwhelming in some way. It's all I can think about—doing right by her. There's something else there too. Some deep rooted feeling that I haven't quite sorted out. Don't know if I want to.

I'm too anxious for food, but I grab one of the pastries Carol sent us with anyway. We've got a long day ahead, gonna have to drive all day and into the night. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't let Lemon anywhere near a gas pedal, but today we'll have to make do. Michonne was up all night, and I want to sit in the back with Beth. Need to have her close.

Before long they come into view, walking side by side on the narrow path that leads back to the small building, Duke trotting behind them. Lemon's totting an overstuffed bag, going on and on about God knows what. When she laughs, Beth cracks a small smile, and it puts me at ease for a tiny moment.

Her crossbow's slung over her shoulder, and a sense of pride swells in my chest. It doesn't last long though. The closer they get, the better I can see her face. Her left eye's swollen, and there's a bruise beneath that stretches down past her cheekbone. There's a cut above her right eye. I stare until my vision's blotted by rage. Wish I could go back and beat both of those assholes to death.

It's not until I push the thought away that I notice what she's wearing—denim cutoffs and a white tank top. Must be Lemon's. I'd slipped one of my t-shirts over her head to cover her when we got her out of the top that'd been ripped open. It's folded up in her hand now. I swallow back the urge to demand she put it back on. Seeing all that smooth skin is making me feel like an ape.

"So anyway," Lemon is saying. "They had to call the fire department, and my neighbors told everyone I ruined their lives, and my parents never trusted me after that, but it wasn't, like, a big deal."

I shoulda had a talk with her, bout not being so overwhelming, but Beth doesn't seem to mind. As much as it annoys me, her cheery disposition probably couldn't hurt much.

There's a rifle leaned up against the car, and I pick it up. Not one of ours. Beth must've brought it back this morning. I pretend to fiddle with it as they come to a stop in front of us. When I glance up at her, she's holding the t-shirt out to me.

I clear my throat and straighten up a little. "Keep it." Looked better on her anyway.

She looks like she's about to say something when Lemon pulls her over to the crate of food we brought along. "You want some breakfast? We've got these little cinnamon pastries, or cereal—don't have milk though. Oh, and we have apples. And peaches! And we have deer jerky. Probably some chips in there too—"

"I'm fine," Beth cuts her off with a polite smile. "Thanks though."

I step away from the back of the car, ready to put up a fuss, but then I catch sight of Lemon's frown and realize she's already on it.

"You should eat," she says, her voice softer than usual. "At least try. I know it hurts, with your ribs and all. But you need it, y' know? To heal."

Her ribs? Had I missed something yesterday? Everything was a blur after I'd realized it was Beth. Hadn't noticed anything wrong with her ribs. I shoot Michonne a look, and she nudges her head for me to follow. We walk around the side of the building.

"Noticed she was favoring her left side this morning," she says when we're out of earshot. "Probably got a few bruised ribs. Asked her about it, but she didn't say much. Wouldn't be a bad idea to get her back so Dr. S can have a look though. We can drive straight through. Skip the supply store we'd planned to hit on the way back." I don't tell her that's what I'd already planned on.

"Her hands are pretty busted up too," she adds. "Has a few broken bones."

I'd seen them. Makes me a little sick to my stomach, knowing she'd fought that hard. I should've intervened sooner. Bolted after her the second we heard her scream or something. Anything. If would've recognized her, I would've jumped in sooner. I'm not used to this—feeling helpless. It's making me crazy. Not being able to take the pain away. Feeling like I caused some of it.

Michonne leans down and picks up a rock then skips it across the pavement of the parking lot as we come back around the building. "Probably need to keep a close eye on her," she says. There's a softness in her expression now, an understanding. She's been on her own before too, knows how it can change a person.

"Will do." I try to keep my voice casual, but it comes out tight. Not that it matters. Michonne probably picked up on my feelings for Beth long before today. Ain't always been great at hiding them. Especially because I can't even be sure what they mean. Just that they're there. That they took root a long time ago.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Beth<strong>_

Lemon glances up from the bag she's pawing through, taking notice of the half-eaten pastry in my hand. "Finish that. You need something in your stomach. Gonna be high as a kite once you take these pain pills. Might be a good idea to wait until we're on the road. That way you can sleep them off. Make the trip go by faster."

I take a few more bites to appease her, and she finally finds the orange translucent bottle, withdrawing it with a triumphant grin. Her honey colored eyes are clear and honest, full of good intentions. I swallow the lump in my throat and smile back. She reminds me of the way I was before. At the prison. When I was still in a safe little bubble, oblivious to the rest of the world. Things are different now.

I'm finish my breakfast just as Daryl loads the last of their supplies. Lemon's busy brushing through her dark hair, and Michonne's making a final sweep of the perimeter. I know if I'm going to do anything it has to be now, so I grab Daryl by the elbow, taking him by surprise, as I pull him away from the car.

He raises his eyebrows, looking a little uncertain. "What's up?"

"Just thinking," I say, keeping my voice casual. "That things might be better if I stay around here a little while longer, ya know? Maybe get a map from you. That way I can head that way when I'm good and ready."

"Beth." His gruff voice is cautious as he takes a step toward me. I take a quick one back, and something flashes through his eyes, but he shutters it before I can get a read on it.

"I just don't think it's a good idea," I continue, unable to look him in the eye.

He shakes his head. "Then I'll stay with you, 'til you're ready."

I take another step back, a desperate attempt to shake the weird, cagey feeling in my chest. I don't like to let people get close. "No."

His brow furrows. "No?"

"I just—I don't know. It's complicated. You wouldn't understand." I hate that I'm so freaked out about going with them. Hate that the thought of reuniting with my family doesn't make me happy. Hate that I don't even know why.

He takes another step forward, and it takes every once of my willpower not to turn and bolt. I glance at the nearby tree line half tempted to run for it anyway. But then he reaches out and puts his hand on my arm, and it doesn't completely rattle me. I don't understand the feeling it gives me, but it's not a bad one. It confuses the hell out of me though.

"Make me understand."

I close my eyes as I feel my resolve falter. "I'm just not ready."

He runs his thumb across my skin then draws me in a little. "You're shaken up is all. Been through a lot last few days."

I shake my head, because it's more than that. "I'm messed up, Daryl."

"You're not."

I grit my teeth. "I _am_."

He draws me in even closer and touches his other hand to my wrist. "I ain't leavin' you. Can stay behind if ya want, but I'm stayin' with you."

His touch is making me weak, and my walls come down a little. I let out a shaky sigh and lean forward to let my forehead rest on his chest as I stare down at our feet. "I might hate it," I say quietly. "I'm different now."

"We'll figure somethin' out if you do." He runs his palm down my arm until he reaches my hand, then he twines his fingers through mine. We stand there for a moment, holding hands in silence, like we did that day at the graveyard, my throat thick with some strange emotion I can't seem to swallow down.

He squeezes my hand, and the final thread of unease holding me back snaps. I give in and let him lead me over to the car. He's different now too. Not as blunt as he was before. It's odd. Seeing this side of him.

When I slide into the backseat, Lemon twists around from the driver's seat and holds her hand out to me, two white pills in her upturned palm.

I take them from her with a grateful smile and swallow them down. "Thanks."

She grins as she lowers a huge pair of sunglasses over her eyes. "I've got a pillow back there. If you wanna stretch out, we can strap Daryl to the roof." Michonne lets out an amused breath as she clicks her seat belt into place.

Daryl rolls his eyes as he slips into the backseat. "Just drive."

Lemon chuckles as she starts the car up. Duke is piled into her lap, his long body half stretched across the console with his head in Michonne's lap. I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes, settling in for the ride.

* * *

><p>The painkillers must kick in at some point, because I don't even remember falling asleep. But I must've, because I'm pulled from the sleepy place just before a dream by Daryl's voice. He sounds close. And aggravated.<p>

"I swear t' God if I have to listen to this CD one more time I'm gonna—"

Lemon cuts him off. "You better shut your mouth, Daryl. Me and Michonne like it, okay? We'll leave your ass on the side of the road."

Everything is bleary, and it takes me a long moment to focus. But then I hear it—Taylor Swift coming through the speakers. The first song she ever had on the radio.

"I ain't listenin' to this again." His voice is louder now.

"Better than nothing," Michonne says, and Daryl grunts.

I open my eyes, blinking to adjust to the sunlight. The roof of the car comes into focus first, and it doesn't take me long to realize I'm laid out in the backseat, my head on a pillow that's in Daryl's lap. Our crossbows, which were seated between us before, are now in the floorboard. I lay there a little longer, relishing the sunshine on my face and the clean, outdoorsy smell coming off of him. It's intoxicating.

Here with him, I feel safe, so I close my eyes and roll over, tucking my hands against my chest and burrowing into him. After a moment, he places his hand on my side and rubs his thumb in a slow circle just below my ribcage. It's nice. I let the warm, fuzzy feeling it gives me lull me to back to sleep.

* * *

><p>When I wake for the second time, the cab of the car is dark and quiet. Daryl's breathing is slow and even, so I sit up slow, careful not to disturb him. Michonne is in the passenger's seat, her head leaned up against the window as she sleeps. Duke is still piled in Lemon's lap. When she glances in the rearview mirror and she sees I'm up, she grins, her face lit up by the glow from the dash. "Feeling any better?"<p>

I roll my neck from side-to-side a few times, working some of the stiffness out. "Actually, yeah. The pills helped."

"I have more," she offers. "Could pull over and get you a few real quick."

"I'm good, thanks though. Can't remember the last time I slept that hard," I say with a sheepish smile.

She chuckles before launching into a story about the time she had oral surgery before the turn. She punched her dentist in the face and cried the entire way home but said it was some of the best sleep she ever got, even with a mouth full of bloody gauze. After that story comes another, and then another. She never seems to stay quiet for long, but I don't mind. Actually kind of enjoy it.

She tells me about driving cross country from California with her boyfriend and Duke. They were all the way in Maine when the outbreak hit. Pretty much as far away from home as humanly possible without leaving the continent. Said they'd tried to get back for awhile, but realized it was hopeless by the time they made it to Virginia. That's where they'd met Daryl and the others. It's the first time I've ever heard her sound sad.

She brushes it off and forces a little laugh as quickly as it comes on. "What about you?" she asks. "How'd you end up in North Carolina?"

I clear my throat, feeling a little hesitant. The openness with which she told her story forces me to give something though. "I lived in Georgia with my family before the turn. Had a small farm that we holed up on afterwards. We stayed until a herd pushed us out. After that we drifted around until we found a prison outside of Atlanta. It was safe for awhile, but even that didn't last. The prison fell, and everyone got separated." Thinking about the fall of the prison and my father makes me shaky, but I swallow it down and continue on, trying to keep my voice light. "I ended up with Daryl for awhile, but that fell apart too. I've pretty much been on my own since. Just sort of wandered where the walkers would let me after that." It isn't the whole story, but it's something.

I don't want her to press any farther, so I direct the conversation back to her. "Why'd y'all leave Virginia? Supplies up there hard to come by?"

"Virginia's not too bad," she says. "We heard about this medical supplies warehouse down here that hadn't been cleaned out though, so we came to scout it out. Plus we needed everything we could get before—"

Daryl springs up, suddenly very awake, and cuts her off. "Pull over," he says, voice gruff. "Gotta take a piss."

She rolls her eyes but slows the car to a stop and puts it in a park. He swings the door open and hops out before looking back in at me. "C'mon. Stretch your legs a little."

Couldn't hurt. I push my door open and slide out before reaching back inside to get my bow, slinging the strap over my shoulder as I straighten up. Lemon and Duke pile out too, and she comes around the back of the car where I'm busy shaking my stiff legs out.

"Where was I?" she asks as she presses the button to release the hatchback. "Oh yeah, we came to get stuff for—"

"Beth," Daryl calls out from the brush he stumbled into moments before. "Come here. Need help with somethin.'"

"Ew," Lemon shouts back before I can even respond. "Hold it yourself, pervert."

"So anyway," she continues, reaching into the back and pulling out a piece of jerky. She hands it to me. "We came all this way mostly because Maggie's gonna be delivering soon and—"

My shoulders go stiff. "Delivering what?"

Lemon cocks her head to the side and gives me a weird smile. "A baby, what else?"

The dried piece of meat in my hand falls to the ground as I stumble back a few steps. "Maggie's pregnant?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Daryl<strong>_

I reach them just in time to catch Beth's stunned expression. Lemon's clearly confused, and she won't shut up. "Wait—do you, like, know Maggie?"

As the shock fades away, Beth's gaze gets distant, cold even. "Yeah," she finally says. "She's my sister."

Lemon gasps, still oblivious to my death glare. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. You didn't know? I mean, of course you didn't know. I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"It's okay." She shrugs it off. "Glad you told me. Better than being blindsided by it." Her eyes shift to me, and there's blatant hurt there that feel like a punch to the gut. I want to reach for her, but she's already shutting down. I follow when she turns her back to me and walks around the car.

"Beth, I . . . " I don't know what to say, and my voice just trails off.

She pauses for a moment, her fingertips on the door handle as she waits for me to finish. If she'd look at me, maybe I could. But her cold shoulder is making me feel insecure, and I come up short.

"You should've told me," she says, her voice deadly quiet, and my stomach drops. She gets back into the car without saying another word, and I let her. Because I'm a coward.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Daryl_**

The moon is high over head when I pull the car up to the iron rod gate of the estate. It leads to the Stoneleigh Manor, an old historic site, that was remodeled and marketed as a luxury hotel before the turn. Spent most of my life in a tiny trailer. Now I'm living in some corner suite with a view some asshole probably used to pay good money for. The irony is not lost on me.

It's a good place though. Has stone walls around the entire perimeter that the walkers haven't been able to penetrate yet—haven't even come close. We've taken other precautions as well, installing spikes and trenches beyond the wall, and watch towers too. The grounds go on for miles, and the soil is good. Been here more than a year now, and as stir crazy as it makes me, it's safe.

Abraham is on watch, and he signals to someone on the ground after shining a flashlight through the windshield. Moments later the gate slowly parts, and we roll through. I glance in the rearview mirror at Beth. She's staring out the window, looking completely detached.

When we reach the building, I pull around the circle drive and park next to the long abandoned valet station. The windows are dark, and I figure everyone's sleeping. It's better this way. Woulda been a fuss if we'd shown up in the morning when everyone was at breakfast.

I shut the car off and hop out, slinging my crossbow off my shoulder in the process. "We can unload in the mornin,'" I tell Michonne.

She nods. "Think we should wake anyone?"

"Nah," I say quickly. "Be better if we let her settle in first."

"I'll help her find a room," Lemon pipes up. "Get her some pajamas and stuff."

I give her a reluctant nod. As much as I hate the idea of letting Beth outta my sight, I know she'll be more comfortable with Lemon. Seems to enjoy the girl's company. Least I know she's safe here.

When a full minute passes and Beth still hasn't made a move to get out, I round the car and pull her door open. She's got that wild look in her eyes again, darker in the moonlight, but it's there. The same one she had when she tried to talk herself out of coming back with us. Like a caged animal. She slides out of the car after a hesitant moment, fingers curled around the strap of her crossbow, same as mine are.

Lemon comes up beside me and takes her by the elbow. "Come on," she says with a gentle smile. "I'll get you all set up."

I follow behind as she leads her into the building but stay put when they head for the staircase that leads upstairs to the rooms. Choosing to stalk around the first floor for a good half hour instead, I pace the long hallway that goes from the commissary to the infirmary. But eventually curiosity gets the best of me, and I hit the staircase, taking them two at a time until I reach the second floor. It's quiet and dark. Same with the third. Then on the fourth and final floor, at the end of the hall, I see a faint light seeping out from one of the open doorways.

All the hotel rooms were locked up tight when we got here, and since we hadn't figured out the generator situation, it was easier to take doors off hinges. No other way to bypass the electric locks without tearing the doors all to hell, anyway. We needed the wood for other projects, so it worked out.

With the exception of me, this wing as always been empty. Until now that is, and I know it has to be Beth. Probably picked it for the same reason I did—to get as far away from all the people and noise as possible.

I stop just outside her door, it's the last one of the left. Directly across from mine. Aside from the steady stream of the running shower behind the bathroom door, it's quiet, and for a moment, I let my mind wander where it shouldn't.

To all that smooth, creamy skin and those long, lean legs, my mind bumping over the fact that every part of her is dripping wet right now. Let myself imagine what it would be like to run my calloused palms up over her ribs until my thumbs brush the undersides of her breasts, what she'd taste like if I pressed my mouth to the soft spot just below her jaw, and then her mouth.

I stop myself there, because thinking on Beth that way is a fool thing to do. She ain't something I can ever have. Don't deserve anything that perfect, so that's just the way it has to be. I can stay close enough to watch her from afar. I can keep her safe and comfort her if she needs it. Ain't never gonna any farther, and I'm okay with that. At least she's here. At least I have her back.

* * *

><p>I have no way of knowing how much time as passed when I hear I soft knocking on my door frame. Sitting up in bed, I reach for my discarded t-shirt and slip it back over my head. Then I cross the carpeted floor and flip on a nearby lamp before pushing the curtain I'd tacked up as a makeshift door back. Beth is there, in a plain tank top and thin pajama shorts, arms crossed over her chest, hair framing her face in waves.<p>

"Lemon told me this was your room," she says quietly. "Thought maybe we could talk."

I pull the curtain back a bit more and nod for her to come in. She hesitates for a moment, nibbling the inside of her cheek, before walking past me. The lamp doesn't illuminate much. Mostly the small entryway where the bathroom and closet are. My room is still dark, but I decide against turning on the overhead light. Never a bad idea to be conservative, but also because I know it'll be easier to face her this way.

She turns in a slow circle, taking the small space in, though there ain't much to see. I've kept it the same for the most part. Still makes me nervous though. I know it's not right, but something deep in my gut wants her to like it here. In my room. In my space.

When she finally speaks, she's looking out the large picture window on the far wall, her back to me. "I can't do this."

I lean up against the wall beside the dresser and watch her. "Do what?"

She shrugs. "Be here."

"Why's that?"

She turns around and comes toward me, and I get a glimpse of the hard look in her eyes. "Because," she says simply. "I hate it here."

I raise my brows. "That right?"

She shrugs. "Yeah."

"Why?" I know all the questions are annoying as hell, and I feel like a bastard for asking so many, but it's the only way I'll get anything out of her. And I want to get something out of her. Badly. I want answers. I want to make things right.

"I just do," she snaps.

I cross my arms over my chest. "Gonna have'ta do better than that."

"I don't have to explain it to you." She's getting defensive. "I just need you to help me get out of here."

I shake my head. "Ain't doin' that."

She balls her hands into fists and grinds her jaw once. "You have to."

"Nah," I say, aiming to get a rise out of her. I know better than anyone that people are most honest when they're pissed off. "You're just bein' weak. Don't want no part of that."

She rounds on me, the liquid blue of her eyes turning to stone. "I'm not weak. You don't know me anymore—don't know how much time I spent tracking y'all, or what I went through."

I push off the wall and get right in her face. "So tell me."

She squares her shoulders, refusing to back down. "Tell you what? That I had to kill three people to get away from those assholes who took me from you. That I followed all the damn signs Maggie left for Glenn about Terminus only to find nothing when I got there." Her eyes are glassy, and I know she's losing it. "Kept thinking maybe y'all had to leave. Maybe you didn't have a choice. Found some stupid map in an old church with Rick's name on it. Thought there'd be an explanation for everything when I found y'all. Didn't know you'd be living it up in a five star hotel."

My willpower snaps, and I reach for her. "Beth, it's not—"

"No," she snaps, pushing against my chest hard. "No one looked for me. You all just left. _You_ just left." Her voice breaks midsentence, and it feels like my chest is ripped open right along with it.

"I never stopped looking," she says, her voice fracturing around every word. "I _never_ gave up. I always had hope. I never lost it. I always kept looking." She turns away from me, her breathing ragged, shoulders still set in a hard line despite the fact that she's shaking.

I'm so focused on finding the right thing to say that I'm completely shocked when, out of nowhere, she pulls her arm back and slams her fist into the wall, hard. Before I can react, she rears back and punches it again. It's not until she pulls her arm back for a third time that I wrap my arms around her from behind and yank her against me, rendering her immobile.

She fights me at first, shoving her back into my chest and kicking off the wall as she tries to free herself. But her angry grunts get quieter with time, and she slowly gets softer against me. Then the first strangled sob tumbles out and her entire body goes limp as she sinks to her knees. I go with her, pulling her up against my chest as her shoulders start to shake, gasping for breath between sobs that sound like they're too tangled up in her chest to come out without a fight.

I'm out of my element—_way_ out of my fucking comfort zone with no clue what to do. So I do the only thing I can and hold her. I don't tell her that I never gave up. That I chased that damn car all night and all morning. Chased it until I couldn't anymore. Don't tell her that I've been back to Georgia time and time again. Don't tell her I tracked that black car down and found the hospital she'd been locked up in. I just rock her back and forth as gut wrenching sobs wrack her entire body, and it breaks my fucking heart.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

There's no telling how long we spend on the ground, me between Daryl's knees and my back pressed to his chest. My tears have long subsided, but he hasn't let go. Maybe because he senses how much I need it. He's just keeps trailing his fingertips up and down my arms like they're stuck in a steady loop.

My eyes feel heavy. The way they always do after a meltdown. I could probably pass out, but the room is getting lighter and I know the sun is coming out. I'll have to face the day soon.

I lean back against Daryl's chest and pull in a shuddery sigh. "I can't stay."

"Can't leave either," he drawls, his rough voice close to my ear. "Can't just run away from this. Gotta face it at some point."

"I know." I close my eyes tight and put that wild desire to run in a box, pushing it to the very back of my mind.

He doesn't say anything else. Just moves his hands to my shoulders and starts kneading the skin there, his thumbs making gentle sweeps that increase and decrease in pressure as he works the tension out of all the muscles that are coiled tight. It makes my entire body feel warm. Makes me wanna stay here, still like this, forever.

I tip my head back and let myself sink even farther into his touch. Before I know it, I'm fighting consciousness. Then I just give in. I fall asleep in his arms.

* * *

><p>I wake to the gentle shake of my shoulders and Daryl's gravelly voice in my ear. "C'mon, Greene. Gotta get up."<p>

I crack one of my eyes open only to squeeze it shut again when the sunlight hits. I groan, not willing to move. "Why?"

He chuckles and shuffles around behind me. I want to protest when his arms leave my waist and come up under my shoulders. He's pulling me to my feet before I can get a word out though. "Gotta get you down to Dr. S," he says. "Hand looks broken."

My eyes pop open, and I look down to examine it. I remember a faint throbbing coming and going throughout the morning, but the pain had been buried in the aftermath the breakdown. Judging by the swollen, distorted appearance of my knuckles alone, he's right. I move it experimentally, and the deep, shooting pain is confirmation.

I release a breath and look at Daryl with a sheepish smile. "Sorry I freaked out."

"Ain't nothin.'" He shrugs it off. "Go on and get dressed. Can probably sneak you into the infirmary without any run ins."

I nod and head for the door, only to stop and turn back to face him. "Actually . . . do you think you could take me to see Maggie first?"

After a thoughtful moment, he nods. "Yeah. I could do that."

* * *

><p>I know this is something I have to face. But now that we're standing outside of Maggie's flowered curtain serving as a door, I want to sink into a hole and hide. The logical part of me knows I should be happy. Maggie is family, and we can finally be together again. But in some deep, dark place, I feel betrayed. Knowing she gave up on me so easily stings. I understand it. That she never dreamed I'd survive. I was weak in a lot of ways back then, but that doesn't make it okay. Doesn't dismiss the fact that she gave up on me a long time ago.<p>

But before any of that, she_ is_ family, and I know Daddy wouldn't want us carrying on like this. He'd want me to try, so that's what I'm gonna do. If I have to fake it until I can sort through these feelings, I will. I can fix myself here. It's just gonna take time.

When I'm ready, I turn to Daryl and give him a nod. He raps on the door frame a few times, and I hold my breath until I here her call to us from inside.

"Come on in!"

I follow Daryl into the room, fighting the urge to clutch onto the back of his shirt and hide.

"Oh, hey. Didn't expect—"

Her voice comes to an abrupt halt when he steps to the side and her eyes land on me. They widen in shock, and she blinks hard, like she can't believe what she's seeing. And why would she? They all thought I was dead a long time ago, after all.

"Beth?" Her voice breaks as she drops the book in her hands and it falls to the ground with a thud. "Beth, oh my God. I—oh my God."

She holds her arms out, and I walk to her. It feels strange. Her eyes are still the same green, and her hair is longer now, down past her shoulders. She has the same smile. It's little shaky now though, and her eyes are brimming with tears. There's also the huge pregnant belly thing. I'd try to prepare myself. Knew that'd she'd been on bed rest for a week now as she nears the end of the pregnancy. Daryl told me as much.

So yeah, I knew she'd be pregnant as hell when we came in here, but that doesn't make it any less weird. I go to her though and take a hesitant seat on the side of her bed.

She throws her arms around my neck and squeezes hard. "I never thought I'd see you again," she breathes. "I mean, I just—I can't believe it. I can't believe you're here."

I pat her back awkwardly then pull away from the embrace. "Neither can I."

She draws me right back into a hug. "How? How'd you find us?"

"Just dumb luck." I give a feeble shrug. "Lemon and Daryl found me."

"She's been tracking us," Daryl says suddenly, a sharp edge to his voice that I can't quite decipher. "Saw all those signs you left for Glenn. Found the map Abraham gave to Rick. The one with the D.C. route, remember that? Just got lucky enough to come across her during the run."

She pulls away from me, and I catch something in her eyes. Regret. They're full of regret. Guilt too. "Beth, I'm so sorry. I never thought . . . " Her voice gets quiet and sad. "I don't know what I thought."

I wave a hand through the air, dismissing it. "Hey, I'm here now. That's all that matters, right?"

She nods her head, her eyes passing over my face like she still can't quite believe it. They knit together after a moment, and I watch her expression morph into one of concern. "Jesus. What happened?"

"What this?" I laugh a little and to touch my fingers to my cheek. "You should see the other guy."

"We're headed to the infirmary now," Daryl informs, his tone clipped. "She just wanted to stop in and check on you first."

"Let me come with you," Maggie says, reaching down to push the covers away.

"No," I say quickly, putting my hands out to still her.

She looks taken aback by my abruptness, so I rush on. "I mean, you can't. Lemon said something about a stomach bug going around. Don't wanna risk exposing you to anything. You know, with the baby and all . . ." I'm a liar.

She frowns. "I don't feel right letting you go alone."

"I won't be," I assure her with a smile. "Daryl's gonna be with me. I'll stop by as soon as we're finished, so we can catch up."

She smiles, her eyes getting watery again. "You promise?"

"Yeah," I say even though I can feel the bitterness rising up my throat. "I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

**So I'm starting to realize that this story, for the most part, is gonna be based around Beth & Daryl's interactions. I love action and gore, yes, but it's not really my niche and I know I'll probably crash and burn if I take this story in that direction. I wanted to create some where they're safe enough that it forces them to really face what they're feeling, you know what I mean? **

* * *

><p><strong><em>Daryl<em>**

After a week things start to smooth out, most of that stemming from the fact that people aren't falling all over themselves just to get a word in with Beth anymore. Bout damn time. All the fuss of the first few days had her skirting around here like a gazelle in a lion's den. I was sure I'd wake up one morning and she'd be gone.

Since that night in my room, when she'd fallen asleep in my arms, we haven't had much interaction. I'm not avoiding her. Not exactly. Just observing from a safe distance. But I'm starting to feel like a real sick bastard now that I've got her entire routine memorized.

Well before dawn, she wakes up and goes out to the wall to spear piled up walkers. Once the sun rises, she has breakfast in the dining room, usually with Lemon and her college boy boyfriend. Sometimes she sits with Eugene. She eats an apple—always just an apple—and it drives me fucking insane. Not my place to be concerned, but that doesn't curb the desire to cook her a damn egg or a piece of toast every time I see her.

She floats around from place to place during the day. Spends time out at the greenhouses with Tyreese, or in the library with Carol for story time. Out on the wall where it's mostly transplants. Inside with Maggie. At the stables with Rick and Carl, or in the watch tower with Sasha. She helps everyone out, and in a lot of ways she seems like the same Beth Greene I remember so well.

But then I'll catch some fleeting moment that makes my heart feel like it's been lanced in my chest. Moments when I can practically see some bad memory tangling itself up in her head. And just like that all, the sunshine that makes Beth so sweet is gone, and she has the saddest fucking eyes I've ever seen. It's then that my fingers itch. That's when I want to reach for her.

It's my own uncertainty that holds me back, so I wait instead. That's all you can do with someone as perfect as her. Wait and let her come to you. And I hope that she does.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

I have to get out here.

The walls. The people. The never-ending noise.

It's all slowly chipping away at the final tiny sliver of composure I've somehow managed to wrap myself in. I feel like I'm losing it. More than anything else, I want to get lost in the trees for the day. In the mud, and the muck, and the peaceful calm of being on my own. That's not gonna happen though. Every single attempt to sneak out has been breached by someone. A chaperone is the last way I want to spend my day. But I _am_ getting desperate, and at this point I'll take anything.

Lemon's boyfriend, Adam, is out on the wall killing walkers, so I knew she'd be alone. And bored. But now that she's looking at me like I might have a few screws loose, I'm starting to think this was a bad idea. "You want to leave?"

"Yeah," I say with a casual shrug. "Go on a run or something."

She stands up and dusts her jeans off, looking mildly curious. "For what?"

I know what Lemon loves. And I know there's a huge shopping mall in McLean that the group cleared out months ago. "Clothes." It's not a complete lie. I hate borrowing from her, and I could use a few things of my own. "I wanna get something for the baby too." Dr. S says Maggie should be delivering in three to four weeks, and I want to give my first ever niece, or nephew, something special when they make it into this world. Even if it is just some stupid stuffed animal they'll forget about.

Her eyes light up, and I bounce on my heels, anticipating her cave in. But after a moment, the excitement fades away and she frowns. "I can't."

I reach out and clutch her hand. "Come on! It'll be fun. It'll be like a girls day! Maybe with a few walkers, but we can handle it. You know we can."

For a split-second, her worry falls away and I can the eagerness, but then she gets all serious again. "Daryl would shit his pants if he knew I took you out." She glances around like saying his name could summon the devil himself. "Like he'll probably rip my ovaries out and eat them."

I roll my eyes. "Daryl won't find out." Who does he think he is anyway? He's been avoiding me. "If he does, I'll take care of it."

She still looks skeptical, so I give her hand a squeeze. It has to be Lemon. She's the only person here that I feel genuine with. I can be myself around her, and it doesn't feel like a lie. "Lemon, _please_."

"Okay," she finally says, the wild gleam coming back to her eyes. "Let's do it."

* * *

><p>It's nearing dusk when we pull back through the gate. I drape my arm out the window as we roll toward the building. It was a successful day. I don't feel so suffocated, and we actually managed to bring back a pretty decent haul; clothes—probably too many—a few bottles of nail polish, some fancy body wash and shampoo, a cute stuffed elephant for the baby, a case of wine for tonight, and a bottle of tequila. Not exactly necessities, but things that make me feel human.<p>

Glenn's been on a supply run spanning several states for over a week now, but the group made it back early this morning and tonight the camp is celebrating. For the first time in awhile, I feel . . . excited. It's something I thought I'd lost when the prison fell—being giddy about something. And yet here I am, enjoying the fresh air and not minding the walls so much.

The feeling is short lived, because the moment Lemon comes to a stop at the entrance of the building, Daryl comes storming down the steps. And he looks mad as hell.

Lemon's eyes go wide. "Dude, I told you. He's gonna kill me."

I flick my wrist through the air and reach for the door handle. "I'll handle him."

"Where the hell have you been?" Daryl demands the second my feet touch ground. Blades of grass and crushed leaves are tangled up in his disheveled hair, and his boots are covered in mud. There's a smudge of dirt above one of his eyebrows, and his biceps are shiny with sweat. He's probably been out hunting all day. He looks delicious—gruff and gorgeous in all the ways that make smart girls do stupid things. When he runs a palm over his scruffy jaw, I will myself to look away.

"Out."

He glares at me, and for a moment I waiver. "We went on a quick run," I elaborate. "It wasn't a big deal."

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and makes a frustrated noise in his throat. "You ain't in no kinda condition to be goin' outside the walls."

"I'm not some wounded bird, Daryl."

His eyes are all flinty as they drop down to my wrist. "Bullshit you're not."

I follow his gaze to my injured hand and roll my eyes. I'd talked my way out of a plastered cast and into a splint/ace bandage combo, so I don't know why Daryl is staring like the limb has just been freshly amputated. "This is nothing," I say, holding my hand in the air. "Doesn't slow me down one bit. Besides, it's not like I haven't dealt with worse."

My response looks like it causes him physical pain, and for a moment the hard look in his eyes lets up. It's replaced by something more vulnerable, but before I can even begin to decipher it, they're icing back over. "Goin' out alone like that was stupid."

"I wasn't alone," I point out. "I was with Lemon."

He snorts. "Alotta help she is."

Lemon is smart. She has a different way of surviving, but that doesn't make her weak. I feel my brows pull down and in. "What's your problem?"

"You," he snaps. "Actin' like an idiot. That's my problem!"

I take an angry step toward him, closing the distance between us so I can get right in his face. I'm about to let him know just how pissed off I am when my eyes lock onto his and all the tiny facets of blue and silver suck me right in. My gaze drops to his mouth on its own accord, and a thrill shoots right through my middle. It'd be easy to take him by the lapels and pull him to me. Easy to drink in his woodsy scent and see if he tastes like smoke. But you don't just kiss a man like Daryl Dixon. Not unless you're ready to deal with a whole lot of angry heat. So I curl my fingers into my palms and will them to stay at my sides instead.

Lemon's voice snaps me out of my stupor. "Are y'all about to fight? Or make out? Because I can't really tell, but I sort of want to see both."

I divert my eyes and take a quick step back as heat rises up my neck and spreads to my cheeks. Lemon is a few feet away, staring at us like a cat in the cream. Daryl makes a noise deep in his throat, practically a growl, before turning on his heel and stalking back into the building.

I swallow back the urge to follow him. Daryl's like a junk-yard-dog. Mean. Ready to attack the second anyone gets too close. Gotta let him come to me. And I pray that he does.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Daryl<strong>_

Everyone congregates around a large fire out on the back lawn later that night. Glenn's group made it back without incident, and after a long run, that's plenty reason to celebrate. This place has gotten so big, it's hard to do anything as a group, and even with most everyone in the same place, people tend to splinter off into their own little crowds. Fine by me though. Easier to avoid conversation that way.

I'm listening to Rick and Carol drone on and on about the plans to extend the stables when I glance up and my eyes lock on Beth's. She's sitting on the other side of the fire with Lemon and Adam, and after a long moment, she smiles.

I just stare, because the way she looks right now, shadows from the flames flickering across her face, has me frozen in place. Then, in what feels like slow motion, she crooks her finger and beckons me. I check over my shoulder to see if someone else is there, but the space is empty. She has her brows raised like I'm an idiot when my head snaps back around. Which, for the record, I am. An idiot. I'm an asshole too for flying off the handle the way I did when I realized she was gone.

Rick slaps my shoulder, and I regretfully tear my gaze from hers. He's looking at me expectantly, and I realize I have no idea what he just said. "Huh?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "I said, go."

I scowl. "Go where?"

Rick nudges his chin in Beth's direction. It's great that he's giving me an excuse to dip out, but at the same time the thought of going over there, with her and that damn perfect smile, scares the shit out of me. "I'm good here."

He gives me a serious look. "I know you're not that stupid."

I open my mouth to fire off a response, when I feel Carol's bony elbow jab me in the ribs. "You heard the man, Pookie. Go on." Her smile is gentle.

I feel like an awkward teenage boy at a school dance, and that ain't never been my kind of scene. I get to my feet though, because lord knows I'd be a fool _not_ to go to her. She pats the grass beside her as I approach, and even though there's still a tiny flicker of fear telling me to run the fuck away, I take a seat. Not next to her. But near her.

The corner of her mouth tilts up. "Hi."

"Hi." Real conversationalist I am.

"I have a peace offering for you." Her voice has the slightest lazy slur to it, and it's cute as hell. Like most everyone else, she's probably got a good buzz going from the wine they brought back.

"That right?" Rick and Carol are both staring at me like I just loaded up on the school bus for the first time. I ball my hands into fists and chase away the urge to flip them off.

"Yeah," she says. Then she scoots right up next to me. Our thighs are touching, and I'm acutely aware of how warm her leg feels even through the two layers of clothing. The warmth spreads up my leg and into my stomach, kicking my pulse up.

"So . . . truce?" She's holding a bottle of wine out to me.

My brows pull down. "You expect me to drink that?"

She nods, a mischievous smile on her lips, as she brings the bottle to her lips to drink. My gaze drops to her mouth and sticks. Mostly because her tongue is making a slow trail across her bottom lip to collect the tiny drop of wine there, but also just because damn. She's got a nice mouth.

When she holds the bottle out to me a second time, I'm shaking my head, ready to refuse, but who the hell am I kidding? She just had her lips pressed up to the rim of that bottle.

I take it from her and turn it up, taking two big gulps. It's sweet and a little earthy. Merle's voice is in the back of my head, calling me a pussy, but the sweet little smile Beth gives me after makes it more than worth it.

"We good?" I ask. I know she deserves a proper apology, and I'm a bastard for not giving her one, but I'm no good when it comes that sort of thing. Words tend to fail me. That's usually how I find myself in a deeper hole. Any other time I wouldn't give two fucks about making things right. But this is Beth, and with her it matters.

She takes the bottle back from me and taps a finger against it. "Once we finish this, maybe."

"Maybe?"

She takes another sip. "Mhm."

I'll take a maybe.

We drink in silence for the next few minutes. I like that. That we can both sit without speaking and things don't start to feel heavy. Words are important, yeah. But so is silence, and it needs to be respected. Most people search for ways to fill it up. Not Beth. She knows quiet doesn't mean empty.

I lean back onto my elbows and study her. She's deep in thought, but there's a small smile on her face, so whatever it is, it's happy. Her hair is messy. Half pulled back, half framing her face. Her t-shirt rides up a bit when she shifts from to the side, and I catch a glimpse of the smooth skin just above her jeans. I'll probably have dreams about it.

I'm still staring when she turns around, and I know I should look away. Social conventions demand it. But the smile on her face is so damn sad, I can't. It cuts right through me, clean to my roots, to the place I don't let anyone see because it's still too raw and fucked up.

"This is the first time I've had anything to drink since the shine shack." Her voice is a whisper. Barely even there. But I hear every word. And I get it. The sadness. The pain. All the wasted time, I feel it too.

Her hand is in the grass between us. I sit up and slide my hand over it, brushing my thumb along her wrist as I go. She flips her palm up and our fingers intertwine. It's not much, but it's something. She doesn't say anything else. Just leans into me and rests her head on my shoulder.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry this chapter is a little short, you guys. I'm gonna pick up right where this ends, so maybe some drunken shenanigans to come, but there will certainly be some opening up between the two of them. I didn't do any writing ahead on this story, because I wasn't sure if I'd get any sort of response from it, soooooo updates will probably be every 3-4 days? I'm trying to clean it up, so it's not such a rough cut by the time it gets to you, but at the same time I hate to keep you waiting. On that note, I love you all.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

_**Daryl**_

By the time we finish the bottle, the fire is dwindling and the people are too. At some point, I know this night has to end, but for now I'm content to sit under the night sky with Beth at my side. It's the kind of sappy bullshit I'd normally wrinkle my nose at. But with her, it's nice. I drum my fingers on the neck of the empty bottle of wine and let myself get lost in the sleepy hum of cicadas surrounding us.

My moment of peaceful bliss is ruined when Lemon launches herself onto Beth's lap like a missile. Her brown hair is all over my lap, and I scramble away like it's fire. Beth giggles.

Lemon's hands are clutched around some bottle of tequila she's been coveting like treasure all night. She shoves it at me. "Open this," she orders. "We're gonna get drunk."

I raise my eyebrows in a slow, deliberate movement. I know one wrong word could send her into a hissy fit or bursting into tears. We usually all walk on eggshells around Lemon. She's like an annoying little sister. "Seems like you're already plenty lit to me."

She purses her lips. "Daryl, listen. All the Starburst in the world are _expired_. Do you know what that means? It means all those little slices of sugary heaven are gone and dead. How does that make you feel?" All melodrama aside, her eyes are completely serious, like the lost candy of this world is the one real, true travesty here. "Tell him, Beth. Tell him to stop wasting time and open that beautiful bottle, so I can just enjoy my life. We've already lost too much."

Beth bites her bottom lip to stop a grin as she shrugs. "Might as well."

Lemon rolls over on her back, still in Beth's lap, as she stares up at her, grinning so wide I can see her damn wisdom teeth. "We should take that bottle down to the pond and go swimming."

I don't even know where to start with that one. For one, Adam's passed out on the ground beside Lemon, Duke serving as his pillow. It doesn't even look like he's breathing. Probably couldn't walk a damn straight line, let alone be trusted in more than two inches of water.

As if to prove a point, he pops right up and pulls his shirt over his head. "I'm ready."

I snort and work the cork out of the bottle, figuring this bad idea will be enough of a distraction to make them forget about the even worse idea. I pass it back to Lemon and she sits up, some of the amber liquid sloshing out of the bottle and onto Beth's thigh in the process. She doesn't seem to notice.

She takes a swig and hands it over to Beth, looking thoughtful. "You think Chuck Norris is dead?" Holy random segue.

Beth shakes her head as she lifts the bottle. "Nah, no way," she says, then takes a tiny sip, grimacing as she swallows the liquid down.

She hands it over to me, and I take my sweet time. The longer the bottle's with me, the less it's gonna be with them, and they're both lightweights. Before I'm quite ready to give it up, Lemon hops to her feet and snatches it away. She takes a long drink then does a clumsy plié.

"Let's go," she says and then skips off in the direction of the pond down by the stables, disappearing into the dark. Duke trots after her, and after he stumbles to his feet, Adam does the same.

Don't know how I always end up being a damn babysitter, but I do know if I let those two idiots go alone one of them will probably drown. I grumble under my breath and push myself to my feet before extending a hand to pull Beth up with me.

When she gives me a wide smile and strides off to follow them, I don't hate the situation so much. I even jog a little to catch up to her. Away from the fire, it's hard to make out much. But I can see she's fumbling with something. The ace bandage around her hand, I realize. She's unwrapping it.

I frown. "Sure you should be doin' that?"

"Probably not," she admits. "But I don't wanna get it wet."

My eyebrows shoot up, and I'm glad she can't see me. "You're gettin' in?"

She nods. "Why wouldn't I?"

Because it's probably full of duck shit. I don't tell her that though, because there's a little bounce in her step like she's excited. I just shrug one shoulder instead, watching as she finally frees the bandage and gets to work on the splint.

Dukes large frame is stretched out on the dock when we get there. I can't see Adam or Lemon, but from the sound of it they're already in the water.

Beth stops near the bank and kicks off her boots. I stare opened mouth as her hands go to the hem of her shirt and she strips it off. Her perfect, creamy skin is practically glowing in the darkness, and my imagination is running wild before I can even attempt to rein it in.

_Down, boy._

"What're you waiting for?" she asks, and then I hear the metallic pull of her zipper.

I run the palm of my hand over the back of my neck and glance around. We're alone. The only light in the entire area is at the far end of the pond where the dim glow of a solar-powered lamp is seeping through the fence around the stables. The moon is a tiny sliver above.

If I join her, Beth won't be able to _see_ my scars, but she might feel them. Not that she'd get that close, and fuck, if she did, I think it would be worth it. Still makes me tense up though.

Beth takes a step toward me. "What's wrong, Mr. Dixon? Not a strong swimmer?" She plucks at the front of my t-shirt, and I hear the smile in her voice.

I fail to muster a reply, because in the next second, she starts shimmying out of her too tight jeans. My boots are off and I'm stripped down to my boxers so fast, it makes her giggle. I go willingly when she takes my hand and tugs me toward the bank—duck shit be damned.

When we hit the water, she lets go of me and dives beneath the surface. Taking a different tact, I wade in slowly, until the water is past my shoulders. It's another sweltering summer night, and I mentally concede that it is refreshing. Refreshing and stupid as hell. Never know when shit's gonna hit the fan. But right now, I sort of don't care. That's the dangerous thing about Beth. She's got a way of coaxing me into doing some real stupid things. Stupid gets you killed.

Beth pops up in front of me, and I know she's smiling. I can't see it, but I can feel it. She's treading water, too short to reach in this area, and I can feel her coming closer. I'm sure we'll be touching any second, skin-to-skin. The thought has the muscles of my abdomen coiling tight.

But—of course—Lemon ruins another moment by splashing over to us, barely managing to keep her damn chin above water as she holds the tequila high over head. She hands it to me then wraps her arms around Beth's shoulders, clinging to her like an overgrown cat.

"So me and Adam were just talking . . . " There's a slur to her voice, but she sounds completely serious. Worried even. "And what if we're, like, the last people on Earth?"

I snort. She knows we aren't the only ones. We've seen others. Always bringing others in. "Still people out there," I remind her. "We've seen them." It's gonna be a long night. I take two huge gulps of the bitter liquor, relishing the slow burn it leaves when I swallow it down.

"I mean, like eventually." She sounds defensive. "After Chuck Norris dies."

Beth chuckles. "Of old age?"

"Well, duh. After that though . . . " Her voice trails off like she's busy contemplating something. I hope this stupid conversation is over, because I want her to go away. "We should start repopulating the Earth," she declares all of the sudden, her voice going up a few octaves like she's really onto something here. "Like we _owe_ it to the entire human race to start producing babies left and right."

If hope for the human race is in Lemon's hands, we're in serious fucking trouble. I don't point that out though. Not trying to subject myself to any of Lemon's wrath, especially when she's this tipsy.

Without warning, she propels herself off of Beth's back. The abrupt force pushes Beth forward, and she bumps her chin on my chest with a clumsy giggle.

As Lemon swims back toward Adam, she hollers over her shoulder, "You better drink up, Daryl. We're gonna need your spawn. The future of the world depends on it!"

I glare at her retreating frame as I feel myself flush. Wouldn't feel near as bad if she drowned now. "Idiot."

Beth laughs as she slips the bottle out of my hands and puts a bit of space between us to tilt it up to take a sip. "So what do you say?"

One of her legs gets tangled up with mine when she passes it back, and I place a hand on her waist to steady her. "Say to what?" My voice comes out deeper than usual, and I know it has every thing to do with the fact that my palm is sliding over her smooth, wet skin right now.

"Our obligation to all of mankind." She sounds amused. "We gonna fool around or what?"

My entire body goes still, and every inappropriate thought I've ever had about Beth goes tumbling through my mind.

"Chill, Dixon." She laughs, loud and loose. "I'd never wanna compromise your virtue. It's far too precious."

I'm opening my mouth to tell her I don't give a damn about my virtue, when one of her hands latches onto my shoulder and she pushes down hard, dunking my head under the water.

I come up spluttering, one hand raised high to safeguard the open bottle of tequila. She's a few feet away, treading water and giggling. It takes a moment to fully realize what just happened.

"You're gonna pay for that," I growl, then I lunge for her.

She squeals and spins, trying her damnedest to kick away from me. No chance in hell I'm letting her get away that easy though. My hand closes around her ankle, and I tug her toward me, letting go long enough to slip my arm around her waist and pull her in until her back is pressed against my chest. I don't have it in me to dunk her though. She's too damn cute.

She's still giggling, but it's softer now, and I can feel a smile on my own lips. Then it gets quiet, and the goofy, no-worries vibe vanishes. It's replaced by something intense and palpable. Her breath catches in her throat, and I know she feels it to. The ache to be closer.

I'm acutely aware of my own heartbeat, hammering away in my chest so hard it feels like it's building something. Everything I'm feeling is scaring the shit out of me, and there's an itch at the back of my throat telling me to get the hell out of Dodge. I will myself to stay though.

Beth spins around to face me. Slowly. So slowly.

Her chin tilts up, and I feel her breath on my lips. A few miniscule inches separate us now, and I know if I just leaned down a little, I would close the gap. My mouth would press against hers, and we would cross that notorious, invisible line I've been so mindful of. And I want to. I want her. I think she wants me too.

Before I can make my move, one of her hands skirts up my chest and over my shoulder, and her fingertips brush over one of the unsightly scars there. She pauses then traces over it again, softer this time. I feel my entire body ice over.

With stinging abruptness, I shove her out of my arms, my limbs stiff as I back away like she's a ticking time bomb, ready to explode and ruin everything.

"Daryl, it's—"

"Don't," I snap, hating the razor sharp edge to my voice.

Her palms are up in the air, surrender style. "I didn't mean anything by it."

I grit my teeth, my jaw working back and forth. I don't want her anywhere near that part of me. Those ugly scars are a link to a part of my past that no one could ever understand. I fucking hate that she keeps weaseling her way under my skin. Hate that she keeps getting closer and closer. I hate that I want to push her away and pull her close all at the same time.

I hate that I don't understand any of it. Fuck.

"We all have scars, Daryl." Her voice is cautious. "That doesn't mean you get to be an asshole. I don't care if they make you feel vulnerable, or weak, or whatever. It's still not an excuse. Whether you like it or not, they're a symbol of something you've overcome—physically, emotionally, whatever. You don't get to treat people like shit just because you have them. Because something in your past makes you cringe. You don't get to do that."

She's hitting too close to home, and it's unnerving. I turn the bottle of liquor up and drink until my chest burns.

She comes close enough to take the tequila out of my hands then swims toward the bank. I turn after a moment, and she's taking a long drink, close enough to shore now that she can touch.

She laughs dryly and holds the bottle out to me. "At least yours aren't on your face."

I take it from her without a word. I'd noticed her scars back in NC. One across her cheekbone and another, shaped like a crescent moon, on her forehead. I was curious about how they happened but didn't have the nerve to ask. It never occurred to me that they could be the manifestations of some dark moment she wanted to hide away from everyone. And she can't hide them from anyone. Damn.

I really am a dick when I drink.

"I'm sorry," I say in a gruff whisper. I wonder where the rest of my voice went.

She dismisses it with the flick of her wrist. "Don't worry about it. I get it."

She's distant now. I can sense it. And I'm all too aware of how bad I fucked up tonight. Things should've gone differently, but instead of moving forward, I set us back ten steps.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Beth<strong>_

We lay out on the dock with Duke, passing the bottle back and forth and looking up at the stars in silence. Eventually Adam and Lemon join us. Lemon talks about the end of the world, and Chuck Norris, and how much she misses fireworks.

It's not until I sit up that I realize how drunk I actually am. The whole world feels like it's spinning. I reach out and grip the edge of the old wooden dock to see if I can anchor myself to one spot. It helps a little bit, but I know I need to get inside and pass out. I scoot my way over to Lemon. She's yammering on about something, and I don't want to interrupt her but I'm having a hard time concentrating long enough to find a place to jump in.

I put my hand on her forehead and close one eye to help myself focus. "I gotta go to bed. Everything's spinning." I can hear myself slurring, but I'm powerless to correct it.

She giggles. "I'll go with you."

I shake my head. Then realize that was a bad idea. More spinning. "No, you stay." I make the move to stand and stumble a little, but before I can completely bust my ass, a set of strong hands are on my waist, righting me. I know they're Daryl's without looking.

"I'll take her," he mumbles.

Lemon says something, but I'm already making my way over to the bank where I left my clothes and I don't catch it. Dressing myself proves to be a challenge, and Daryl has to help me more than once. I know I'll catch shit for it later. He'll snap at me and tell me to I'm acting like a child, or an idiot, and then he'll ignore me. As much as I hate it, I know I need the help right now, so I keep my mouth shut.

We're silent on the walk back to the building. I keep tripping over my own damn feet, and eventually Daryl stops.

He bends his knees a little and waves his hand. "C'mon. Hop on."

Another serious piggyback. Like that day at the graveyard before everything went to shit. When I was still sweet and hopeful. When I thought things were bad, because we were separated from the group and I'd just seen my father executed. I had no idea. Things got so much worse.

I hop up, and he lifts me by the thighs. I feel a heat stirring deep in my abdomen, which I choose to ignore. I just wrap my arms around his neck and lean against his back like I'm completely unaffected, uncaring of the fact that I'm probably dead weight. By the time we make it up the stairs of the back terrace, my lids are heavy and I'm half asleep.

He sets me down, envelopes my hand in his, and leads me into the building. I squint down at his feet as we go, channeling all my focus into not tripping, but the pattern on the marble floors is making me dizzy. We round a few corners, then he pushes open a door and we're in a cool room.

When he lets go of my hand, I glance up for the first time, discovering that it's the kitchen. I lean back against the long stainless steel counter behind me and manage a question, "Why're we here?"

"Figured it'd be wise to get somethin' in your stomach."

My eyes had drifted shut while he was rummaging around, but I pick my head up a bit at the mention of food. I'm not too drunk for that.

He's holding a loaf of bread out to me. I take it from him and rip it in half. The small amount of movement sets me off balance, but I get it together before he has to help me. If walkers breached the walls right now, I'd be so dead. I don't even my crossbow. So irresponsible, I self-lecture.

I hand one of the halves to him before taking a bite of mine. I can't really taste anything, but I'm sure it's delicious. I could smell it when Carol was in here baking it this afternoon. I wanted to help because she was humming this sweet song and something about her blue eyes and gentle smile reminds me of my momma and home, but it's hard being around the group. It stings.

My mouth is unattractively full when I look up and realize Daryl is watching me. Intensely. It makes me squirm, and it makes me blush, and it makes me want to touch him, but I know I'm likely to lose a limb if I do that. I need to get away from him before I do something stupid.

"Thanks for walking me," I mumble. "I'm gonna take this up to my room."

He wraps a hand around my elbow and holds me in place. "Finish it here. Then I'll walk you."

I nod my head, because I don't have the strength to argue. We eat in silence. At some point, he hands me a bottle of water, and I down half of it in a very unladylike fashion. When we're finished, he grabs two more bottles of water, and then takes me by the hand again. I feel like I've sobered up a bit, but I don't tell him that. I let him lead me up to my room.

When we get there, I take the four longest steps of my life and collapse face-first on the bed. I just want to go to sleep. I know I'm gonna suffer tomorrow, but at least I can forget the world tonight. At least I won't have dreams.

Daryl must have other plans though, because he flips on the lamp beside the bed and takes me by the arm, urging me to sit up. I let out a long, petulant sigh but obey.

He pulls my splint out of his back pocket and motions for my hand. I want to tell him I don't need it, but I know arguing would be pointless. So I hold my arm out and let him slide it back over my hand and fasten it in place. After that, he wraps it up tight with the ace bandage. Then he turns and sweeps up my unfinished bottle of water. I down the rest when he hands it to me.

He bends over and takes my boots off for me. I want to tell him to stop being so sweet, because it's giving me whiplash.

He tosses my shoes to the corner of the room. "You gonna be okay?"

I nod my head. I know he's about to leave, and it's making me sad. He can be a real jerk, and sometimes that makes me want to shut him out. But there are other times, when I feel like he's trying to open himself up to me, and that makes my stomach tight.

Sometimes all the cold melts right out of that piercing gaze, and what's left is real, and honest, and vulnerable. Kinda like the way he's looking at me right now. I have to resist the strong urge to curl into his arms and let him peel back all the fears that leave me shaky everyday.

After a long moment, he turns to go. My hand shoots out to grab him on it's own accord, and before I know it I'm opening my mouth. "Stay."

I knew I was gonna do something stupid.

When he turns back around, he looks enormously uncomfortable, and I lose some of my nerve. "Please?" My voice sounds small.

It looks like he wants to bolt, but then he surprises the hell out of me by sitting down on the edge of the bed and toeing out of his boots. I unbutton my jeans and wiggle out of them, which would probably mortify me if I had any kind of sound judgment left at the moment, but the lamp isn't even all that bright, and it's not like he's paying attention to me anyway. Might as well get comfortable.

I roll to the other side of the bed then slide beneath the duvet. He stands up and removes his belt. I stare as he reaches back and grabs ahold of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, without breaking our gaze. He's tense, and that hard look is back in his eyes. But when he turns to toss the shirt on the ground, giving me a full view of his back, it feels very purposeful. It feels like he's trying.

It makes the back of my throat burn. I want to hug him, cover his skin in kisses, take some of the pain away. But I can tell he's still uncomfortable, and I'm not gonna push my luck. What just happened was a big step. I'm letting him come to me. When he's comfortable with me touching them, he'll show me. I have to respect that.

I lift the covers a little and pat the empty spot beside me. He turns off the lamp before joining me. Some of his tension melts away when I scoot across the bed and cuddle up to his side, one of my bare legs snaking over his.

He lifts his arm, and I wiggle in even closer, his chest serving as a pillow. I ignore the fact that I'll probably drool on him, because I want to stay like this. It feels warm and safe. And right.

He's got an arm around me, his thumb tracing slow circles on my shoulder. His other hand is resting on the arm I have thrown across his chest. It's not long before my eyelids are heavy.

"Daryl?" My voice sounds far away and sleepy.

He brushes a strand of hair away from my face. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He doesn't respond. Just makes a soft noise in his throat. That's enough for me. He's trying. We both are.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry if this chapter isn't great, you guys. J surprised me with a trip up to the hot springs, and it was hard to get back into the swing of things. This chapter is more of Beth's changing attitude. She's turning into quite the rebellious one. Bear with me through this little spout of writers block. And to all of those that have reviewed, favorited, followed - you keep me going! I want to kiss all of you. I had a particularity sweet review this morning that motivated me to get this chapter up.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

So this is a hangover.

My head feels like the inside of drum that's been beaten one too many times, my stomach feels like it's been flipped upside down, and I'm pretty sure I'm sweating tequila, because I can still smell it despite the very long, very hot shower I took this morning.

I'm sitting in the dining room with Maggie, picking at a piece of toast. She's going on about baby names, and I'm thankful for the overly-large pair of sunglasses Lemon gave me, because without them, she'd know I wasn't paying attention right now.

I have other things on my mind. Like a certain ornery redneck. One who got up well before dawn and woke me while he was gently untangling our limbs. When I asked him where he was going, he told me he promised Carl he'd take him out on a hunt. Then he surprised the hell out of me by leaning over, smoothing a hand over my hair, and pressing his lips to my forehead.

"Go back to sleep," he'd murmured.

It was . . . out of character. And sweet. And confusing.

But I am certain of one thing—I want him in my bed every night. Subconsciously, I know that's very dangerous territory. But he makes my stomach flutter, and I just don't care. I have a crush on Daryl Dixon. Like a big one. One that I'm pretty sure took root awhile ago.

Jesus Christ.

"Hey—" Maggie pulls me back to the present by squeezing my arm. "Are you okay? You seem off today."

"Yeah. Just a little tired is all." I smile this particular, practiced smile that's all teeth and squinty eyes. I always hope it'll be bright enough to trick anyone who's looking into thinking I'm actually happy. And it usually works.

Must do the trick, because she grins back at me. "What'd you do last night?"

Anytime Maggie gets me alone, she wants every little detail she can get about what's going on outside. I know it's because she's bored from being stuck in bed most of the day, but it bugs me. It's just weird. Talking to her, no matter the subject, makes me feel uneasy.

"Just hung out around the fire." I shrug like the next part is no big thing. "Went swimming with Lemon and Adam. And Daryl. Called it a night." Daryl slept in my bed, and now I want to jump his bones. No big deal.

She arches one of her dark brows. "Daryl?" Her voice is light but I sense the overprotective undertones there. It's annoying. Sisterly.

"Yeah." I give her the smile again. "It was fun."

"I'm surprised Dixon even knows what fun is." She pops a strawberry into her mouth and laughs. "So what are your plans today? You haven't spent much time with Judith. You were so good with her at the prison! I'm sure Pauline would love a break if—"

"I can't," I cut her off. "I already made plans."

"To do what?" she presses.

"I told Lemon I'd take her out and teach her a bit about tracking." I'm lying, and I don't even know why.

Maggie snorts. "What do you know about tracking?"

"A lot, actually." My voice is sharper than I'd intended it to be. "Had to learn a lot more than that while I was on my own."

"Oh." Her smile falters, and I know I've hit a tender spot, but I don't care. It's just like Maggie to treat me like I'm still her poor, pathetic little sister—too weak to be good at anything other than bouncing a baby on my hip. She doesn't see that I've changed. Can't fathom how I made it on my own. Maggie thinks it was a miracle. But it was _me_. Not luck or divine intervention. I made it because I learned how to survive on my own. Why can't anyone see that?

The tension lets up when Glenn comes up behind her, a bouquet of wild flowers in his hand. He pops them in front of her face before leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. She lights up as she takes them from him, bringing the bouquet to her nose.

He grins at me before plopping down in the seat next to her. "Hey, Beth. How you feeling this morning?"

"Not great," I grumble.

He ruffles my hair like I'm a little kid. "Too much wine last night?"

"Something like that."

Maggie is still smelling the flowers. "These are beautiful," she says with a little sigh, like she can't handle how damn romantic he is. The two of them segue into a quiet conversation.

I've never seen anyone look more at home than she does when he takes her in his arms. It's a beautiful sentiment, and I have no clue why it makes me feel itchy and stung. But before I know it, my eyes are burning with the threat of tears.

Then, like an answered prayer, Lemon pops her head around the corner and calls my name. I push away from the table, a little too forcefully, not even bothering to say goodbye before I stride across the room to her.

She grins as I approach. "Morning, sunshine! How's your head?"

"Well beaten," I admit.

She tugs on my arm, her grin morphing into something downright mischievous. "Come on. I'm about to introduce you to the wonders of medical marijuana."

With Duke trotting at our heels, we make our way out to the stocked pond behind the greenhouses. Adam is out on the dock, stringing up a fishing pole. Lemon paws through the tackle box for a moment then withdraws a long, skinny joint, looking victorious.

"Ty has been growing cannabis since spring," she explains. "Dr. S uses it to make herbal teas and oils, like for pain and nausea and stuff. Smart, huh?"

Yeah, actually. In a world where more and more valuable resources are expiring by the day, you've got to find other ways to treat things.

"How'd you get it?"

"Dr. S is pretty cool. I told him the truth—that tequila made me its bitch last night and this morning I woke up crying for mercy—and he handed it right over."

"You woke up a raging psychopath," Adam snipes, one corner of his mouth titled up. "Not crying for mercy."

She shoots him a look. "And how is that different than any other morning?"

He chuckles. "Fair enough."

Lemon waggles her eyebrows at me as she lights the joint up. "You ready to cure all your ailments or what?"

When she holds it out to me, I take it from her hesitantly. "I've never smoked before," I admit. "Like not even a cigarette."

"Well the good news is, this is probably better for you than a cigarette," Adam says. "Less toxins and all that noise."

"The other good news is, this is the end of the world and no one's here to tell you you're not allowed _if_ it's something you want to try," Lemon adds, giving me a gentle nod of encouragement.

She's right. It is the end of the world. And honestly I would drink motor oil if it would help this hangover, so I'm more than willing to give this a shot.

I bring the joint up to my lips and inhale, taking a small hit. It tastes earthy and even a little sweet. I breathe in deep and hold it for a long moment before exhaling with a cough.

"So?" Lemon's wide eyes are full of curiosity.

I grin at her and take another puff then pass it on to Adam.

"Guess that settles it." She chuckles. "Down the rabbit hole you go."

* * *

><p>Lemon was right. The headache and nausea are both gone. But more than that, I feel really enlightened. Almost like there's a floodgate in my head that's been closed all this time, and the THC activated that gate and opened it, leaving me with a heightened sense of things. Like a bigger flow of information.<p>

I can hear the birds chirping in the trees and the slap of waves against the dock. I'm paying more attention to them than I normally would, and at the same time I'm thinking about how my whole life could be a lie. For example, the sky is blue. I've been taught that since birth, so I look at the sky and I just know it's blue. But, like, what if someone else is looking at the sky and seeing a totally different color, but they're calling it blue because that's what they were taught as well? What if we're all seeing colors completely different but just calling them the same thing?

Through all of this, I've been trying to bait the same hook for twenty minutes. I've dropped five worms, and they're all free now. They earned it.

I think I'm high.

Lemon leans over and bumps my shoulder with hers. "What's the deal with you and Daryl?"

I frown. "What do you mean?"

She rolls her eyes. "I mean, you guys obviously have some sort of history, right?"

The tips of my ears feel like they're on fire. "Not really."

She laughs. "So why are you blushing so hard right now?"

Because he has a mouth that makes me think of sex. That would be the honest answer. Instead, I go with, "Because it's hot out here."

She smirks at me. "You like him."

I duck my head. "So?" It's not a confirmation, but I'm not exactly denying it either.

She shrugs. "Nothing. Just think it's cute is all."

Adam hollers from the end of the dock where he's busy reeling in another fish. We both let the subject drop, and I go back to focusing on baiting my hook while silently continuing to question the secrets of the universe. Is blue _really _blue? That's what we should be asking ourselves, and not just because it's the color of Daryl's eyes.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Daryl<em>**

Carl and I spend the morning tracking a buck. It's after lunch by the time we catch up to it, bag it, and get it back to camp. Once we're there, we drag it to the designated area for this sort of shit, back behind the greenhouses. Just a few big tables under some awnings and a system rigged to pull water from the nearby pond.

"Not the best way to go about this," I tell Carl as we get started. "Field dressin' is better. Just ain't smart these days." Opening up an animal out in the wild like that would bring in the walkers. This way ain't bad. Just gotta be quick so the meant doesn't spoil.

I show him how to tie a cable around the antlers, and then we hoist it into the air on the frame I built. Makes dressing and quartering the deer quicker. Cleaner this way too, keeps all the bad shit from running into the meat. After that we move on to removing the organs, and I teach him all about being careful around the innards. I've done it so many times now, it's second nature. When you don't know what you're doing though, this part can be tricky. One wrong knick could fuck it all up and contaminate the meat.

I'm not much of a teacher, don't have the patience. Everyone knows that. But I keep that shit under wraps with Carl. There's a tiny part of me that's proud of him for wanting to learn. Ain't gonna make this like the time my pops taught me and Merle. Where one wrong question could earn you a swift kick to the ass. Or the stomach.

For the most part, he picks it up pretty quick, and we've made our way to skinning in no time. Most of this part is pure force, so Carl watches as I make a few incisions and get to work on pulling the skin away from the meat.

I'm yanking on a thick flap of back strap fat when Beth comes sauntering up. I lift my hand to shield the sun that's glowing over her head like a halo. How ironic.

Her hair's in a messy braid, half falling out. She's wearing denim cutoffs with a blue tank top and her signature cowboy boots, crossbow slung over one shoulder and a long string of bass over the other. Damn.

I'm staring at her legs—stop staring at her legs. I tear my eyes away.

Lemon and Adam are a few yards behind her, arguing over God knows what.

Beth grins at Carl. "Nice catch. You shoot it?"

"Yeah." He shrugs like it's no big deal. "Daryl helped."

I snort. Kid's that age. Gotta impress the girls.

"Mind if we share your space? Adam knows how to reel a fish in but not much else." She rolls her eyes. "Figured I'd teach them a thing or two."

Figures college boy don't know shit about cleaning a fish. Fuck it though. If listening to Lemon squeal about guts for the next hour means I get a few moments with Beth, I'm willing to endure it.

I turn my attention back to the carcass and wave a hand toward the awnings. "Tables are all yours."

She takes a step closer, drawing my attention back to her. She's in the shade now, and I get a look at her eyes for the first time. Her gaze drops down to one of my biceps and sticks.

I give the strap of fat and absentminded yank and her lips part. I watch as her tongue traces over her bottom lip and she bites down. I give another tug, and I swear her eyes gloss over. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that look in her eyes was . . . lust?

No way though. Ain't no possible way that me ripping on the skin of a deer carcass is turning Beth Greene on right now.

I turn to the kid. "Hey, Carl. Go get me that water hose would ya?"

The hose is down by the bank of the pond, and he jogs off in that direction.

I pull off my gloves and take a step toward Beth.

"You alright, Greene?"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

I clear my throat and blink a few times. "I'm sorry, what?"

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. "Asked if you were feelin' alright?"

"Um, yeah. I'm great—I'm good." The way he's looking at me coupled with the Georgia heat is suddenly causing my vision to blur. I take a deep breath. "I feel okay."

He tilts his head toward mine and narrows his eyes. "You sure about that?" His lips morph into a slow smile. An actual, real-life smile. On Daryl Dixon's lips. All while those damn smoldering eyes stay locked on mine. It's too much.

I faint—literally.

I fainted.

And based on the pieces of gravel and grass embedded in my cheek and the ache in my left arm, it's wasn't a very graceful fall. I blacked out and hit the ground before Daryl could even blink.

He's leaning over me as I squint my eyes to block out the suddenly too-bright-to-bear sun. "Jesus Christ. Are you okay?"

I groan and try to roll onto my back, but my crossbow is there. Daryl slips the strap off my shoulder and moves it away. Then he's takes the fish I'd strung up on the dock.

Lemon is there in the next second. Her hands all over my face. "Beth, oh my God. Beth, can you hear me?"

"I'm fine." I push her hands away. "I just lost my footing."

Daryl narrows his eyes. "You passed out."

"No, I didn't. I lost my footing."

One of my Lemon's arms snakes around my shoulder as I struggle to sit up. She looks behind her. "Adam, go get Dr. S."

"No," I immediately object. "I just need some juice or something. I'm not going to the infirmary. I'm fine."

Lemon purses her lips at me and draws her chin in. "Beth . . ."

I shake my head, adamant. "I'm not going." I glance at Adam who looks completely torn. "Just get me some juice, okay?"

He nods and takes off toward the building. Duke follows. I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms and release a long breath. I'm never skipping breakfast or lunch again. Or drinking tequila.

Lemon shoots Daryl a look. "Help me get her up, would you?"

"Hold on," he grunts then strides away. Somewhere behind me, I hear water running and decide he must be washing the blood off his arms. Then he's back, and he's slipping an arm beneath my shoulders to pull me up. I could've done it on my own, and I could definitely make it to the awning without help, but I don't let him know that. Instead, I wrap my arms around his waist and lean into him like I truly need the support.

I must be being pretty obvious, because Lemon gives me a knowing grin. Deciding to ignore her, I focus on making my way to one of chairs set up around the tables ahead of us. Carl is following with my crossbow and the fish. Once I'm seated, I take my bow from him with a sheepish smile.

Daryl walks over to his pack and digs through it for a moment. He comes back with a bottle of water and something wrapped in a handkerchief. He hands both of them to me. "Venison jerky," he explains, pointing to the wrapped up cloth. "Probably need to eat something."

I nod my head and take note of how shaky my hands are as I open the water, which I'm pretty sure has nothing to do with heat exhaustion and everything to do with Daryl squatted down in front of me with his hand on my knee.

I've got it bad.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! Soooo on Monday night I broke my leg. Long story short, I was involved in a very high risk game of capture the flag, and I literally tripped on my own two feet and rolled down a hill with lots of sharp rocks. Moral of the story - don't drink an entire bottle of champagne and run around an unfamiliar wooded area like you're Chuck Norris, because you'll just end up on a stretcher with all your clothes cut off, wondering when you signed yourself up for an episode of Naked and Afraid. That being said, I really wanted to get a chapter up, but I'm also on pain meds and hiiiigh as a kite right now. So if this chapter seems really off and awkward someone PLEASE let me know, so I can put this on pause for a few days. Lol I don't wanna continue to the next chapter if I'm just writing awkward babble that's confuses the hell out of everyone. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the follows, reviews, favorites. I'm sorry I haven't been able to answer them all, but I've been out of pocket thanks to a very broken femur. I love you guys!  
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><p><em><strong>Daryl<strong>_

I don't get the chance to get Beth alone before dinner. After a few pieces of dried venison and some fruit juice Adam brought from the kitchen, she was back on her feet. I wanted her to go to the infirmary, but she's got this stubborn, fiery side no one sees until they're trying to talk her into doing something she doesn't wanna do, so I shut my mouth when she made it clear she wasn't taking a break.

Carl and I went back to skinning and quartering the deer, and she got busy teaching Lemon and Adam how to clean a fish. I'll give her this—girl can descale, debone, and filet a fish faster than any man who grew up around the sea. It's damn impressive.

We finish around the same time, managing to fill two coolers with fresh meat. I plan on pulling her aside after we drop by the kitchen, but Glenn intercepts her. Says Maggie's been asking for her all afternoon.

Her jaw tenses up and she gets this closed off look in her eyes at the mention of Maggie's name. It's such a subtle change, and she blinks it away so quickly, most people probably wouldn't notice, but I do. I ain't ever been one to pry, and generally, I just don't give a fuck. Everybody has dirty laundry. But I care when it comes to Beth. Don't even know if I can help, but I want to try. Just have to figure out how to talk to her, which is proving to be a pain in the ass. Talking ain't ever gonna be my thing.

At dinner she sits with Lemon and Eugene. I finish up early and go upstairs to take a shower, resolving to get her alone some other time. Maybe tonight. I'm heading back down to smoke a cigarette when I round a corner and slam right into someone. Lemon I realize as I push her flailing limbs out of my face.

"Jesus," I snap. "Watch where you're goin'."

She pokes me in the chest. "_You_ watch where _you're_ going." I roll my eyes and make a move to go around her, but she latches onto my elbow and tugs me back. "Wait—I need to talk to you."

I turn around with a scowl, already annoyed for no good reason.

"We're showing a movie tonight," she informs me. "On that big wall by reception."

I shrug. "So?" Lemon found some old projector during a run a while back, and Eugene rigged it to play DVDs. Now they have all these stupid movie nights where everyone jams themselves into one area with a shitload of pillows to watch some old flick I usually don't give a shit about. That's why I never go.

She picks at a paint chip on the wall. "I just thought you might consider going tonight."

"You showin' Shawshank Redemption or somethin'?"

"No," she mumbles. "Legally Blonde."

I baulk. "You off your fuckin' rocker, girl?"

She looks completely offended. "Elle Woods is legendary, okay? And I'm only mentioning it because I thought Beth might want to see it."

First of all, who the hell is Elle Woods? Am I supposed to know the answer? I leave that alone, and get back to the point. "If you think Beth would like it, why are you here tellin' me and not her?"

"Because," Lemon says slowly. "I thought you might want to invite her."

"Why would I invite Beth?"

Lemon frowns, her mouth turned down so far and hard, it's clownish. I'm half expecting her to yank a big, floppy flower out of her pocket and spray me with water. "I just thought—" She pauses, her brows knitting together. "That you might wanna ask her so y'all could go together? Like sit together . . . watch the movie together . . ." Her voice trails off as she stares at me expectantly.

Then it hits me. "Oh." Like _go_ together. On some weird, post-apocalyptic-world date. "Okay," I say, nodding my head slowly. "I could do that."

In a beat, her anxiety is replaced by a huge, shit eating grin. "She's out on the back terrace." She shoves me in that direction. "Hurry up, because we're gonna start soon."

I grumble an okay and head in that direction. It's not until I'm gripping the handle of the door to the terrace, ready to pull it open, that I start to freak the fuck out.

I've never been on a date with anyone. Never asked. Never wanted to. What the hell am I doing? Once again, I'm way out of my fucking comfort zone. Before I can chicken out, I yank the door open and spill into the evening. The sun is setting and gray clouds are overhead. Probably gonna rain tonight.

Beth's leaning over the railing, watching the slow swallow of the sun against the horizon. She turns when she hears me stumble out, and I almost lose my nerve. Then she gives me this sweet, curious smile, like I'm some exotic animal who just crossed her path, and she's trying to figure me out. I imagine a lot of that has to do with the fact that I feel like a deer stuck in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler, which means I probably look like one too.

"Hey." I run my palm over my jaw and will myself to walk over to her. Why am I being such a pussy? "You feelin' better?"

"Yeah," she says with a sheepish laugh, her skin darkening under the dusting of freckles across her cheeks. "Just a long day."

I lean my hip against the railing and cross my arms. Then I get busy staring at my boots since I can't face her without losing my cool. I want a cigarette.

I clear my throat and force myself to speak. "So, uh, I dunno if you heard, but there's gonna be a thing tonight . . ." Fuck. I'm awkward.

She quirks an eyebrow at me, her eyes flash like she's laughing. "Oh yeah? What kind of 'thing'?"

"A movie," I mumble. "Lemon set it up, and it's usually some stupid, sappy shit, but—I dunno. Thought maybe you'd wanna go?" My words come out in a rush.

She smiles like she's thinking something she shouldn't, and for one stupid blip of a moment, I hope she's thinking whatever she's thinking about me. "Like together?"

I nod and make a noise in my throat, unable to form an actual word.

Her smile morphs into a wide grin. "Are you asking me to watch a movie with you, Daryl Dixon?"

I rub my palms down the front of my jeans, smoothing the wrinkles and wishing it would work on my nerves as well. "Guess I am."

She stares at me for a long moment, looking like she's enjoying the hell out of watching me squirm. "Okay," she finally answers. "Let's watch a movie."

* * *

><p>This was a bad idea.<p>

As soon as we rounded the corner to reception, Lemon yanked us over to an oversized chair and shoved us into it like a pair of ragdolls. Then she threw a pillow onto my lap like some sort of sick, boner foreshadowing. I get it. This chair isn't big enough for two people, so my body is pressed against Beth's, thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder. It's overwhelming to say the least. But still.

We stay that way—awkward as hell—until Eugene gets the movie going and Lemon screams for everyone to shut up as she flits around the area, shutting off all the lights in the adjoining halls. Not until then do I lift my arm, holding it in the air for one uncertain moment, before I drop it across Beth's shoulders. She tucks her knees under her chin and leans into me like it's the most natural thing ever.

She smells softly sweet. Like flower petals instead of the blossom. Which seems stupid and makes me feel like a pussy the minute I think it.

Damn, though.

I like it.

I like the way she smells and the way it makes my stomach feel warm.

I even like the fucking movie.

By the time it's over, Beth's hand is on my knee, tracing mindless circles with her index finger. Honestly though, as much as I love it, all of this is still weird as hell—me being okay with her touching me. That I _enjoy_ it, crave it even. It's scary as hell, but not exactly the way it is with everyone else. When other people get too close, I feel like a wild animal backed into a corner. With Beth, it makes me shaky. In a good way. And I think that has everything to do with the fact that I'm seriously fucking attracted to her, and I don't know what to do with that information.

Neither of us make a move to get up when the credits roll even though people are starting to filter out of the dark area. I can't help but chuckle when I catch sight of Carl trying to sneak out with Lizzie. He doesn't make it far before Rick snatches him up by the back of his shirt. Used to be a little kid in a big hat, and somewhere in all of this shit he grew up right before my eyes.

Much as I hate to admit it, this night wasn't so bad. Yeah, I was crammed into a small space with too many people, watching a flick Merle would've had my balls for, but I dunno. It was nice. Kind of felt normal, like the way things were before . . . but better. People give a shit here. I've never had that before. So it was . . . okay.

Ten minutes later though, I am definitely in the seventh circle of hell. The lights are back on. Lemon is half-sitting on our feet, talking about what an icon Elle Woods is to the world and dabbing some sort of white, goopy mask onto Rosita's face. Lizzie is perched beside Beth, braiding her hair and talking about how dreamy Carl is. Sasha is stretched out on the other side of the chair, painting Mika's fingernails.

That's when I realize I am literally smack dab in the middle of girls night, and I have no fucking clue how or when it happened. It can't get any worse, though, right? As if on cue, Adam comes jogging out of one of the hallways with the beat up purple jukebox Lemon is always hauling around, reminding me that I should never ask that question. Before he even presses play, I know. I just know.

Taylor fucking Swift.

I look around the area, desperate for an escape route that will seem more like politely ducking out and not running for my life. I'm trapped though. They've surrounded me. That's when I spot Glenn, leaned up against an archway, chuckling as he takes the whole scene in. I shoot him a look that can only be described as pure desperation, and I know he sees it, because his grin just gets bigger. Then, in one traitorous moment, he raises he's hands and shakes his head, letting me know I'm on my own before he turns on his heel and strolls away.

Mother fucker.

I have to get the hell out of here, so I turn to Beth. "I'm gonna go."

She tilts her head to the side, and I get the exact look I'd been trying to avoid—puppy dog eyes and a cute as all hell pout. "You can't go yet." Her voice is sweet, and I have a feeling she knows she's playing me like a damn fiddle. "Just a while longer. Then we'll go together?"

I shake my head, because I can't believe the words that are about to come out of my mouth. "Yeah, okay."

What the hell is happening to me?

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

You haven't seen cute until you've seen Daryl Dixon's face covered in a honey-yogurt mask.

I conned him into it for my own selfish reasons, all of which had nothing to do with skincare as much as me wanting an excuse to touch his face. I've got to say, listening to all the growled complaints and mumbled protests was more than worth it.

When we reach the top of the stairs and he's still scrubbing his face with a towel, I can't suppress my giggle. The hallways are dark, but I'm certain most of it was wiped away long before we even stood up to tell everyone goodnight.

I can't see much, but I catch a flash of his white smile. "Don't," he warns. "You're sworn to secrecy."

"Of course. Not a word." I lift my fingertips to my mouth like I'm zipping it shut then throw away the key.

"I'm serious," he says. "And when I say secrecy, we're talking blood oath and your first born."

I bump him with my shoulder as we come to a stop outside of our rooms. "Hey, I'll take it to the grave. But if you wanna spit in your palm and shake on it, I'm down with that too."

When I flip the light inside my doorway on, I see he's shaking his head at me, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Nah, we're good."

I aim to change to subject. "So. You have any plans tomorrow?"

He shrugs, still scrubbing his forehead with that damn towel. "Told Joe I might ride along in the tanker when he goes for fuel. Why?"

I twist my hands into a nervous knot. "Me and Lemon told Carol we'd go to the orchard and bring her back some apples for canning. I thought maybe you'd wanna come along?" My voice sounds confident, which surprises the hell out of me.

He tilts his head to the side, his blue eyes alight with amusement. "You askin' me to come pick fruit with you, Greene?" He's teasing me the way I teased him out on the terrace before the movie, and now that I'm the one squirming, I don't quite like it.

"Yeah, I am." I let out a nervous laugh. "So . . . ?"

"Sure," he says with the shrug of one shoulder. All the while, my heart is doing Olympic level gymnastics.

I bite down on my bottom lip to stop the humongous grin threatening to take over my face. "We're gonna leave early—probably before dawn. That okay with you?"

He balls up the towel and tosses it into his dark room. "Yeah, I'll be up."

Now that he's finally stopped wiping his face, I get the chance to look at him. His hair is in its usual state of perfect disarray, and his jaw is scruffy. I'm thinking about how much I liked running my fingertips across that rough, scratchy stubble when I spot a tiny patch of the sticky sweet concoction, right where his jawline meets his ear.

I point to it. "Missed a spot."

He reaches up and touches just below it. "Here?"

I'm not sure if it's because I hit my head earlier when I fainted or if seeing his face covered in white girly goop still has me weak all over, but I shake my head, reach out, wrap my hand around his wrist, and tug it down. Then in what can only be considered a moment of insane bravery—or just plain insanity—I take a half step toward him and reach up on my tip toes. And before any of the warning bells in my head can register, I press my mouth to his neck and draw my tongue across his salty, sweet skin.

When I pull away, he's just as spooked as I am. His eyes have gone dark, and I think maybe he enjoyed it, but at the same time his entire body tenses up. I literally cannot believe I just did that.

I know I need to say something. Make a joke to lighten the mood. Tell him I think I may have a head injury. Anything. I'm speechless though. So instead, I back into my room slowly. And after a long moment, I hear him doing the same. I change into pajamas and fall into bed. My entire body is tingling.

* * *

><p>In the middle of the night, I'm jolted awake by the crack of thunder. My room is illuminated by a flash of lightening moments later. I instantly pull the duvet up around me, like it could possibly protect me from the angry storm raging outside my window.<p>

I hate thunder storms, and while I'm painfully aware of how pathetic that is, I just can't help it. They make my skin crawl. If something, or someone, is going to drag itself out of the woodwork with an axe to chop all your limbs off, it's gonna happen during a storm like this one.

I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep. I tell myself I'm an adult, and I've seen worse. Then I count backward from ten. I remind myself that I'm brave now, not a wimp, but at that moment comes a particularly loud boom of thunder. I launch myself out of the bed with a yelp.

Before I even consciously understand what's happening, I'm scrambling across the hall to Daryl's room like something is chasing me. It's not until I've rushed past his curtain that I realize how ridiculous I'm being for charging in here like this. He's probably sleeping. And even if he is awake, he's probably gonna shoot me with his crossbow for barging in here like a rabid dog.

I stop myself just I pass his bathroom door. The room his dark and quiet. I tell myself I'll leave if he's sleeping. I knock on the wall lightly, feeling only a little guilty that I'm already halfway in his room and not doing this out in the hallway. "Daryl?"

I wait. Nothing comes. Just the hammering of my heart in my chest and the splatter of rain against the windows. I try again, louder this time. "Daryl?"

After a moment, my heart drops and I resolve to go back across the hall and cower like a small child while I wait for a murderous clown to come out of the closet. Oh my God, murderous clowns—

That's when a light flicks on. I'm so relieved I want to launch myself straight into his arms. But I remind myself that sneaking up on him might result in a bolt to the chest and peek my head around the corner instead.

He's sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He was very much asleep. I'm a jerk.

"Greene?" He blinks at me. "Everything okay?"

Ugh. His hair is messy and his eyes are sleepy, and he looks so adorable, it takes superhuman strength not to run to him.

"Yeah," I say, hating how shaky my voice is. "It's just—" Another crack of thunder, that sounds particularly close, interrupts me and I practically jump out of my skin. "It's raining," I finish meekly.

He rubs his palm across his jaw. "You came in here and woke me up to tell me it's rainin'?"

I nod my head and crack my knuckles, because I feel like I'm coming out of my skin. I hate that my back is to the door right now and some bloody, mangled figure could waltz right in and chop me to pieces with a chainsaw.

The next round of thunder elicits a small shriek, and I jump to the side, bumping into a tall lamp, and all but knocking it over. I fumble with it for a few awkward seconds. Once I get it under control, I turn back around to face Daryl, and I know he knows.

He knows I'm a stupid wimp that's scared of thunder, and lightning, and monsters that aren't even under the bed. I beg him with my eyes. _Don't make me say it. Please, don't make me say it._

He lets out a long sigh and lifts the covers. "C'mon."

I cross the room and scramble onto the bed faster than I should. I can't even be embarrassed about licking his neck earlier. I just burrow right up against his body.

He shifts to turn off the light, but I stop him. "Can we leave it on? Please? Just until I calm down." I can practically hear my brother Shawn taunting me in my head the way he did when we were kids—_Fraidy cat, fraidy cat, fraidy cat_.

Daryl doesn't do that though. He just puts his head on the pillow and closes his eyes. I'm quiet for what feels like a long time, but I can't stop thinking about the fact that my back is to the door.

"Can we switch sides?" I finally ask.

"Why?" He sounds incredulous.

I glance back at the doorway. "Because if someone comes in here to kill us, they'd get me first, and I would just feel a lot better if I were on the other side."

He laughs under his breath, and I'm sure he's getting ready to tell me to fuck off, but then he sits up and crawls over me. I scoot to the spot he just vacated, and I have this totally wild thought as his body passes over mine. About how much I'd like to be under him in a completely different way, but I beat that idea down before it can go anywhere.

He lifts his arm, and I curl up against his side. "Better?"

I nod. He covers the hand I have on his chest, this thumb caressing the back of my wrist. It feels intimate as hell, but I doubt he even realizes he's doing it. I think he just wants me to go back to sleep, which I fully intend on trying to do. I just have to stop thinking about someone coming down the long hallway of rooms in a Jason mask.

I remind myself I'm safe. I'm in Daryl's arms. There's something completely comforting about being wrapped up this way. I can forget everything when I'm with him. The past, the hurt, and all the fear. He makes it go away.

I can't be sure how much time has passed when I finally stop jumping every time it thunders. Daryl is tracing his fingertips up and down my arm so I know he's still awake.

"Thanks," I mumble.

"Ain't nothing." His voice is soft, like gravel through butter, and it makes my chest feel fluttery.

I let out a shaky laugh. "When I was a kid, my brother Shawn used to tease me about how freaked out I'd get over thunder storms. Maggie was never like that though. When it got to storming like this, I'd crawl out of my bed and tip-toe down the hall to her room. She was usually awake, waiting for me. She never made fun of me though. Not like my brother did."

I draw circles on his chest with my index finger as I continue on. "We'd stay up half the night, and she'd tell me about the boy she had a crush on, or the teachers she hated. I looked up to her, you know? She was my big sister, and she was always so brave and invincible in my eyes. I mean, I idolized everything she did. I know that's dumb but—" My voice does that high, shrill thing that happens just before it cracks and I cry.

"Ain't dumb," Daryl mumbles.

"She was my best friend," I say, and I hear the sound of my voice tightening as I hold back the tears. It makes my throat burn. "I lost that though—after the prison when she gave up on me. I didn't even know that what makes it so shitty. I just kept looking for her. It's not until I came here that I realized how alone I am. Never realized she was gone until I got here and felt it. I lost my best friend."

I've been holding everything in, but in that moment, I feel it. I feel all of it. Like a crushing weight. Like some old wound that should have healed months ago has been ripped back open, and I'm bleeding all over the place. It's a throbbing, physical pain that feels like it's cracking my ribs from the inside out.

I bury my face in Daryl's chest and fall apart in his arms. I sob, unable to hold anything back. With everyone else, I tie myself up in a neat little bow, but with him it's real—I can come undone. He's the only reason I don't feel completely alone, and I cling to him like he's the only good thing I have left.

Daryl Dixon is the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: This chapter is pretty long. I'm sorry if some of it seems flat or maybe boring? I could not stay awake long enough to get anything done, so this took me all day and it might seem choppy. I'm pretty awful when it comes to proofreading my own work and zeroing in on the awkward parts. Lol sometimes I get in a mood where it all feels awkward, and I struggled with that a bit when I was reading over this. Maybe I'll come back later to cut some of it and clean it up? On a side note, thank you for all the well wishes! :) You guys make me grin! Fingers crossed that I'm healed up in no time!  
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><p><strong><em>Daryl<em>**

When I come out of the bathroom, showered and fully dressed, Beth yawns and rolls over, stretching her arms over her head. The covers are half-kicked off, and I catch a flash of one long, lean leg. Her hair is all over the place, and she has this sleepy, well-sated look on her face that makes me wish I'd put it there.

Before I can even attempt to pull back on the reins, my mind is in some pretty down low, awesome places. Like Beth completely naked and moaning my name, my tongue tracing over every inch of that perfect, creamy skin. The thought alone has me half-hard in my jeans.

I clear my throat and beat that image back down as I plop down on the end of bed to lace up my boots. Beth lets out a sleepy little sigh as her foot slips into my lap. I straighten up and look at it, my brows pulled down in a puzzled expression. Her ankle is slim and dainty, and her foot is tiny. Starting to wonder if there's any thing about this girl that ain't cute as hell.

She nudges the palm of my hand with her toes. Then does it again. A not-so-subtle hint of what she's getting at. I chuckle under my breath and wrap my hand around her foot. "Plan on gettin' outta bed any time soon, Greene?"

"Depends," she hums.

"On?" I run my thumb up the arch of her foot and then back down, massaging the other side with my fingers as I go.

She makes this sound—a cross between a sigh and a moan, like a soft, subtle, wordless_ yes_—and I forget all about what I asked. I wanna keep her here all day, so I can coax that sound out of her over and over again.

"Depends on what you're trying to get me up for." Her voice has gone low.

"Mmm." I don't want her to get up. Not really. I'd rather get her naked, to be honest. "We have apples to pick, remember?" I can't believe I'm reminding her. Can't believe I even agreed to it in the first place. Damn sure can't believe she's in my bed right now, and I'm trying to talk her into getting out of it.

"But the rain," she protests weakly. "Won't it be too muddy?"

Probably. I don't tell her that though. As much as I love having her here, it's dangerous fucking territory. I rotate to the side as I reach for her other foot.

"We'll manage," I say as I begin to rub.

She lifts her head off the pillow to look at me. Her eyes are glazed over and she's nibbling on that damn lip again. Yeah, definitely not a good idea to spend too much time alone with her. Not when she keeps looking at me like that.

I clear my throat. "I'll, uh, go downstairs and grab somethin' to take with us for lunch if you wanna round everyone up."

She groans. "Do we have to? We can't just stay in bed?"

Fuck. She's torturing me. It takes superhuman strength to let go of her, but I do. Then I stand and walk around the side of the bed. "C'mon." I hold my hands out to her. "We got shit to do."

She takes them begrudgingly, and I pull her out of bed. It's still dark out, but the bedside lamp is on and I can tell she isn't wearing a bra. And her tank top has ridden up over her hips. And her shorts are way too fucking short. Jesus. I have to get out of here. Now.

"Gonna head downstairs," I call over my shoulder as I head for the door. "See ya down there whenever."

I need a cigarette. And a bottle of whiskey. And a cold shower.

* * *

><p>Not much later, Beth comes trotting down the front steps with Lemon, Adam, and Eugene. Duke too. Damn dog is always right there with him, loyal as all hell. Lemon and Adam are stumbling around like a couple of walkers. Probably ain't been up this early in awhile, if ever.<p>

I load the last of the plastic tubs into the back of the pickup truck. Then toss a bag of muffins toward Eugene. He drops them, of course, and I have to swallow down my snicker. Damn, weirdo. Smart as hell though, gotta give the kid that. I absentmindedly wonder if Beth knows anything about the DC trip Abraham recruited Maggie and Glenn for on account of Eugene. I've seen them hanging around together, but I doubt that's something he'd just come out and talk about. Gotta be ashamed of himself. I was pissed at first about his lying, but I understand now. People do crazy shit to survive. Sometimes they have to. As much as I want Beth to know the truth, her relationship with Maggie is already pretty damn busted up. Something like that may damage it beyond repair, and I don't wanna be the one to take that away from her.

I settle in behind the wheel, and Beth takes the passenger seat. The rest pile into the backseat, and then we're off. The orchard's a good seven miles away. We came across it after clearing out the manor. Its fences were still intact, and it needed a lot of work back then, but it's a great resource now.

Instead of traditional apple trees, they've got those modernized dwarf trees that make for easy picking. Pears, peaches, and a few other types of trees too. The wells are still fresh, and it's got a decent irrigation system. I'd done a little work on it in the beginning, reinforcing the fences and shit. Didn't ever think I'd be driving out here to pick fruit like some sort of pussy though.

When we get there, I park the truck at the gate and hop out, swinging my bow over my shoulder. Beth helps me unload the tubs, and we set them down beside the small opening in the fence next to the gate. I unchain it and hold it open for her. Once she's inside, I hand her the tubs, and we wiggle them through.

She staring off into distance when I join her, and I follow her gaze to the sweeping view of the orchard—damn. It's kind of beautiful out here. The morning mist clings to row after row of low hanging trees. The sun's not quite all the way up and its rays leave a golden haze over all the shimmery leaves and branches.

The same light is making Beth glow, and damn. _She_ is kind of beautiful. I feel it in my chest, a longing so intense it leaves me shaky. This girl could bring me to my knees. She could walk to the edge of the Earth, and I would follow. Blindly.

I have never seen anything so perfect. I want to make her mine.

* * *

><p>The sun is high overhead when we decide to take a break. Beth and I took to the rows to the south while the others took the northern side. It was a quiet morning, and we worked in comfortable silence with the exception of Beth's humming. I pluck one last apple and set in the nearby tub before wiping my hands off on my jeans. Beth is dragging a water hose over when I turn around.<p>

"Come here, Dixon. You stink." She grins at me.

I raise my brows. "You gonna hose me down?"

"Maybe." She points the nozzle straight at me, her fingers wrapped around the metal handle.

I tempt fate, half-grinning. "You won't."

She clamps down on the metal switch and a stream of water hits me square in the chest. It's only for a few seconds, but my shirt is soaked when she releases it.

"Gonna regret that," I inform as I lunge for her.

She squeals and spins around, taking off in the other direction. She's quick, but she doesn't make it far before my long strides cover the ground between us. I open my arms wide to wrap them around her from behind, but she ducks to the right and switches direction, darting past me just as they come down. When I pivot around, she's wearing a wicked grin. She moves to raise the nozzle, but in one big step, I close the distance and cover her hands with my own.

She giggles as she clamps the lever down and a stream of water shoots up between us. For a moment, we struggle for power, the water splashing both of us in the face as we force it back and forth.

I manage to twist it around, so it's pointed at her. She tries to let up on the handle, but I press her fingers down and it sprays her. Once she's good and soaked, and we're even, I let up, wiggling it out of her grasp and letting it drop to our feet with a thud as I do.

She's giggling, and I'm grinning. We're both out of breath, t-shirts soaked. As she takes in the sight of me, she laughs, and I can't get over the way she tilts her head back like she needs to make enough room in her throat to let the whole huge sound of it out.

My fingers catch an unruly curl, too short to stretch to the elastic pulling the rest of her hair back, and I tuck it behind her ear, grazing the tip with my finger. The tiny touch makes her shiver, and I watch a blush work it's way up her neck and onto her cheeks. She's so damn perfect. I want to kiss her. I'm sick of waiting. Hell, I've been waiting. For too long.

I run my fingers through the hair at her temples, taking her face between my rough palms, and she doesn't move. "You were right," I murmur as I lean down to rest my forehead against hers. "I missed you so bad."

"_Oh_," she breathes, and then I kiss her.

Her lips are soft and warm, and the last thing I expect is for her to open her mouth, almost imperceptibly, so subtly that if I wasn't paying attention I might miss it. I'm all about paying attention though, and I run the tip of my tongue across her lower lip, pressing her mouth open with my own.

She tastes sweet. Like apples and honey. I'm dizzy with it. Sweeping my tongue across hers, I pull her in tight and hard, my palms skimming down her arms and sliding around her back. She turns her head and deepens the kiss, her hands cupping the back of my neck with a possessive need that makes me hard and blots out all thoughts other than her and the clawing desire to lay her down right here in the mud and peel back everything until it's just the two of us and what we want bared between us. When she lets out a low moan that echoes from her mouth to mine, I move my hands to her hips and squeeze tight, wanting to feel her skin under my fingers.

I put my lips on the curve of her neck and kiss up under her jaw, right where the crushed leaf smell meets that perfect clean-girl skin smell. She lets out a breathy sigh as her fingers lace through the hair at the nape of my neck and tug. I press my mouth back to hers, and I'm a little shocked by the hungry slide of her tongue. My mind reels and crashes before it can imagine everything that tongue might be capable of doing.

Jesus, she's a good kisser. So good I want to beat the hell out of whoever taught her.

Pressing my hands under her shirt, I run my palms over the soft skin of her stomach and start moving up for more. That's when she tears her lips away. Her eyes are glazed over, and I can't hear anything beyond our mingled, panting breaths and the pounding of my heart.

Her mouth is moving though, and I blink my eyes, trying hard to focus.

"Lemon's screaming." She shakes my shoulders. "Daryl, we gotta go. We gotta go!"

That snaps me right out of my stupor, and I put my hands on her shoulders, firmly rooting her in place. "Stay here, Beth."

Then I take off, only slowing down to snatch up my bow where it's propped up by the gate. I scan the situation as I unlatch the opening in the fence and slip through.

Lemon and Eugene are in the back of the truck, three walkers gathered around, moaning and reaching for them. Adam is a little ways down the road, surround by four more. There are two at his feet that have already been taken care of. He's jacking with his knife, which is still lodged in one of their skulls. I send a bolt flying at one of the walkers closing in on his back, it strikes it between the eyes and sends it crumbling to the group.

Duke is circling the group, lurching forward and snagging the pant legs of any walker that gets too close. He's fast, always moving, gone by the time one of the stumbling dead things turns around to try and sink their teeth in.

I yell at Adam. "Run, you fucking idiot!"

My voice causes him to turn. He looks helpless, still trying to work his knife free. And he looks scared, frozen even. Stupid fucker is gonna get himself bit. I reload and take another walker down with my bow as I close the gap between us. Shoving Adam away roughly, I kick one of the two remaining walkers back while I slam my knife into the others ear canal, all the way to the hilt. I withdraw and take care of the one I deterred, which is now stumbling after Duke while the dog dodges his advances like a pro.

There's a rustling in the brush as I'm withdrawing my knife, and I turn just in time to catch a walker stumbling out onto the road. As I'm putting it down, Lemon shrieks. I spin around and see Beth. Up against the cab of the truck and pressing a walker back by the shoulders as it leans all of its weight against her. I don't immediately panic, because there's no doubt in my mind she can handle herself.

Then I see her fucking knife on the ground. She dropped her fucking knife. Lemon is standing on the edge of the truck, kicking at the things head every time it snaps its jaws in Beth's face while Eugene holds onto her from behind to keep her from toppling out. That's when I panic.

I can't even think. Don't even give a fuck about Adam who's struggling with a walker on the other side of the car. Don't care that he's on the ground and Beth is still standing. The only thing I can see are those rows of rotting teeth and flesh as they get closer and closer to Beth's neck.

I can't fucking breathe, or blink, or swallow. I can only run. It's only a few fleeting seconds, but it feels like it takes longer to close the gap. And by the time, I'm yanking the stupid bastard away from her and burying my blade in its head, every bad scenario has already gone through my head. Twice.

Losing her. That's all I can think about.

I almost lost her. In the blink of an eye, it could've happened.

When the walker falls, I reach for her, but she stoops down and sweeps up her knife before running for the other side of the truck. I round the front just in time to see her yank her knife out of the final walker's temple and haul the body off of Adam. Who is perfectly fucking fine aside from crying like a little bitch.

Suddenly, I'm seeing red. All the anger I keep bottled up comes to the surface. Screaming. I slam my palms against the side of the truck bed, making both Lemon and Eugene jump as my pissed off glare lands on them. "What the fuck!?"

Eugene isn't making eye contact, but Lemon is staring right at me with watery eyes, so I focus all my rage on her. "You can't kill one fuckin' walker? I know you got a brain up there somewhere, so why the fuck is your mutt better at gettin' shit done than you? Think it's everyone's job to babysit your ass like some spoiled princess bitc—"

"Enough." Beth grabs hold of my elbow and yanks, hard.

I spin around and zero in on her. "Don't even get me started on you," I growl, stalking forward until her back is against the cab of the truck. I brace a hand on the truck just over her shoulder and lean in close, boxing her in. "I told you to stay put."

"Why? So you could babysit me?" Her blue eyes are flinty as she throws my own words back at me.

"Ain't like that."

"Tell me what it's like then." She shoves my chest, but I don't budge. "Explain it to me, Daryl. Tell me why it's okay to scream at Lemon about killing walkers, but I'm just supposed to twiddle my thumbs while you do all the work?"

I shake my head. "It ain't the same."

Now her eyes are wide and she's staring at me, but I can't read her expression. This is something new, something more than anger or exasperation. She's shutting down, like shades lowering, and then she's ducking under my arm and I can't do anything but lean against the truck, pound it once, hard, with my fist. "Fuck."

She whirls around. "Why do you have to use that word so much?"

Ah, the almighty F-word. "Just a word, Greene."

"Well I don't want to hear it," she snaps before she turns and stalks away. I follow. Even though I know we're both mad as hell, and shaken up, and it's not a good idea. I follow her.

It's not until she's back at the entrance to the orchard that I put a hand on her wrist and pull her to a rough stop. "Where you goin'?"

"I'm going to get these stupid apples, so we can leave." Her sigh is so long and sad, it sounds like she's deflating.

All my anger is instantly replaced by regret. I feel it all over. And I hate it. I hate it so damn much, it makes my stomach turn. I shoulder my way through the fence and jog to catch up to her. "Would you slow down for a second?" I reach for her arm but she pulls it away from me in a jerky movement.

We don't speak again until we reach the tub of apples we'd worked all morning to fill. "We need to get out of here," she tells me. "All that screaming probably has the walkers all riled up. Would hate to have a repeat of whatever the hell just happened."

I turn to face the judgment in her tone, which I can't even begin to reconcile with the girl who was kissing me in this exact spot like she was drowning in me. Like she wanted to. I lace both hands behind my neck and exhale a long, sharp breath of frustration. "I know I fucked up back there, okay? Just slow down and talk to me for a second."

Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she's staring down at her boots. "You think I'm weak." She shakes her head and a long piece of her hair drops over her shoulder.

I push the strand of hair back, my fingers brushing against the smooth skin of her collarbone. "That's not what I think. You ain't weak." I say it with conviction, because it's the truth.

"Then what was that about?" She looks up at me, her bottom lip between her teeth.

Fuck. What am I supposed to say to that? Can't just come out and tell her I acted like an ape because the thought of something happening to her had me coming apart at the seams. The lump in my throat is so thick, I couldn't possibly get a word out around it, so I just shrug one shoulder, feeling like a complete piece of shit.

Maybe I'm imagining it, but she looks like she just got slapped across the face. I hate that. I have a visceral reaction to the look of pain on her face, and I want to fix it even though I'm the dickhead who put it here.

"Never mind," she sighs. "It's nothing. You need to apologize to Lemon, though. You don't get to treat people like that, Daryl."

I want to say more. Anything. But her expression is completely closed off now, and I know I missed my window. She heads back toward the gate, and I hoist the tub up and follow her. We don't speak another word. Not even an apology.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

I spend the rest of the afternoon out on the wall, spearing walkers and blowing off steam. By the time I head back to the building, the sun is setting and my muscles are aching. I can't stop thinking about the orchard and the way Daryl kissed me. It was all consuming, and knee-weakening, and perfect. I lost all sense of time and place. For a moment, I lost myself and it was freeing. No one's ever made me feel that way before. Then he had to go and ruin everything by making me feel small and defenseless. And weak. He made me feel weak.

Lemon is sitting on the bottom step of the back terrace with Duke stretched out on the grass nearby. There's a bottle of wine in her hands, and she looks like a mess. Her eyes are bloodshot, so I know she's been crying, and her hair still has leaves and dirt in it from this morning.

I swing my bow off my shoulder and plop down on the step beside her. "You okay?"

"Not really," she admits as she hands the bottle to me. "I feel like a loser. All that stuff Daryl said is true. I put people in danger. At least Eugene is smart. I'm not good at anything—"

"Stop. You know that isn't true," I say evenly. "Daryl didn't really mean anything by it—he just lashes out at people like that. You have a different way of doing things, but that doesn't make you a burden."

"I just wish I could change, you know?" She smiles, but it's small and sad. I remember saying those exact words to Daryl after the prison. I know how she feels, because I've been there. Hell, I was town mayor for quite some time.

I try to swallow down the burning sensation in my throat. "You can change. Never too late to try something different." I take a swig of the wine and hand the bottle back to her.

"I dunno . . . I shot Daryl in the foot when he tried to teach me and Eugene how to shoot." She lets out a sheepish laugh and takes a drink. "It barely grazed his pinky toe, but still. I doubt he'd be willing to give me another chance, and he's the one in charge of all that stuff."

The image of Lemon misfiring and hitting Daryl in the toe has me giggling. "Hey, he probably deserved it. And accidents are bound to happen! You can't let that keep you from trying again. We don't need him anyway—I'll help you."

She tilts her head to the side, eyebrows pulled in. "Seriously? You would train me?"

"That's what friends are for, right?" I pluck a leaf out of her hair and grin.

"Yeah, I guess so." She smiles, and it's the first time I've seen her look happy since this afternoon. "This is probably so weird, but I've never really had a friend—like a real one. I have a twin sister, so she was sort of my bff by default."

My eyebrows rise in surprise. I never knew she had a sister, and a twin, no less. "This must really suck," I say quietly. "Being away from your family. Not knowing how they're doing." I want to know more. About her family and if she ever thinks about trying to make it back to California anymore. Lemon is good and genuine, and I care about her. Honestly, I feel closer to her than I do my own sister. I don't want to push her though. I figure if it's something Lemon wants to talk about, one day she will. Same goes for me. I trust her. Maybe one day I'll feel comfortable enough to share my past with her.

"Not knowing if they're even alive," she adds the words I didn't dare say.

"They are. If they're anything like you, they are." And I mean it. Lemon is smart. I know everyone doesn't see it, but I do. I'd take the punt from her any day.

* * *

><p>I'm polishing off the last of the wine when I hear a door open and close. Moments later, Daryl is coming down the steps. It's dark out now, but the lights on terrace are on. We're sitting at the edge of illumination.<p>

"Great," Lemon mutters. "You think he's here for my soul?"

I can tell he's not coming out here to start anything. He's walking slow, and he looks seriously uncomfortable. Like someone is literally twisting his arm. His arms are full, but I don't see what he's carrying until he gets closer. A loaf of bread, a bowl of something, and two bottles of water. There's even a bottle of wine under his arm. A peace offering, maybe? I hope not, because the thought is making me want to launch myself into his arms like a missile.

He stops at the bottom of the steps and turns to face us, clearing his throat to break the awkward silence. "Rick told me I might find y'all out here."

We both stare at him like we're waiting for the secret password.

He clears his throat again. "Noticed ya weren't at dinner, so here." He hands the bread over and then the bowl, which is full of grilled venison and vegetables. Next come the bottles of water. Lastly, he sets the bottle of wine on the step beside Lemon.

He glances from me to Lemon, still looking completely out of his comfort zone. I know one of us needs to say thanks, but I'm pretty sure we're both in shock.

"Wanted to say sorry for earlier." He kicks at the bottom step. "I was a real dick. Didn't mean nothin' by it. For the record though, Duke is probably smarter than me too. Hope there ain't no hard feelings." He pauses uncertainly. "Anyway, I'm supposed to be on watch, so I gotta run. Y'all have a good night." He mumbles his was through the entire thing then takes the steps three at a time to get away from us.

Lemon looks over at me, her eyebrows pressed down over her nose. "Did that just happen?"

"Yeah." I laugh a little. "I think he just apologized to you."

It's the first time I've heard him apologize to anyone. Like ever. We sit in silence for the next few minutes, and I take the time to really consider how much this place has changed Daryl. He's different. Still a little angry, but not the way he was before. He changed for the better while we were separated. But _me? _That's a different story.

I come to a chilling realization . . . I don't deserve Daryl Dixon. I'm carrying around too much baggage. It's packed full and overflowing with all the awful things I did to survive. The people I killed and the innocent ones I left to die. Their blood is on my hands—I'm covered in it. And there's no escape.

This is what I am now. Damaged goods. I have to accept that. I would only drag him down, and I won't do that. I can't. Not to Daryl. Not when everything is finally coming together for him. He needs someone good in his life, and I lost that part of me a long time ago. I'm not right for him anymore, and it's the worst feeling in the world.

* * *

><p><em>It's not real, it's not real, it's not real.<em>

_I recite the mantra over and over again in my head, but it doesn't make it true. It doesn't help me wake up either. I should know that by now. I've had this dream before, and I never get to check out early. I have to relive the entire, awful thing every time I slip into it._

_I'm surrounded by white walls. No windows or doors. Everything feels like it's closing in on me. There's no escape. I know that, but I always look. I always panic. Eventually, I accept it._

_In the beginning, I'm alone. But as the room gets smaller, the people appear._

_Joan. She's front and center tonight. She shuffles toward me, groaning as she reaches out to me with one arm. Her other one is gone, and I helped cut it off. She turned, and it's all my fault. I could have saved her. But I didn't. I destroyed her instead.  
><em>

_Next to her is a young girl in a bloody night gown. Her jaw is broken, her throat is crushed, and she has no eyes. I listened to four men torture her. Listened as they killed her. I could have saved her, too. If I were stronger, I would have._

_I reach for her. I want them to take me instead._

_But she's already gone._

_A tall man with stringy black hair is before me now. I don't know his name. He has a clean bullet wound to the head. He deserved to die. I hate the way he's looking at me. I remind myself that he's gone. He can't hurt me._

_But he's here in my dream, staring at me with a wolfish smile that's threatening to swallow me whole. I still remember the spill of his rancid breath across my neck. The way his knife cut into my skin as he held it to my throat, the explosion of color behind my eyes when he slammed the butt of his gun into my temple._

_I used that same gun to kill him. And I liked it, because I'm sick. Just like him._

_The room is empty again, and I turn slowly to face a mirror. It takes a long moment to realize that the girl standing there, covered in blood with eyes like a caged animal, is me._

_I'm a monster._

_I make a fist with my hand then slam it into my reflection hard. Watch the fresh blood trickle out of my knuckles and onto the ground. I smile._

_I'm a monster; the monster is me._

* * *

><p>I jolt up in bed, gasping for air and covered in sweat. I run my hands over my body frantically, like I expect some important part of me to be gone. My hands are shaking—I had another nightmare. As the panic fades, the chill sets in.<p>

It's like pain in its purest form. Pain that's so powerful you can't feel anything. I would give anything to be able to feel an emotion. Any emotion at all. Anything that isn't empty. I hate feeling empty.

If a dream's bad enough, I always wake up this way. And they usually are. I know I won't be able to go back to sleep. And honestly, I don't think I'd want to. It's easier to control my thoughts in the waking world.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and push myself to my feet. My limbs feel heavy, and I can't tell if it's from slumber or if I'm just that exhausted. I feel my way through the dark until I make it to the bathroom and flip on the light. I splash my face with cold water a few times. Then I towel off, resolving to lay back down until it's closer to dawn. Then I can go out to the wall and kill walkers until I'm too tired to think straight.

I pause by my doorway and glance across the hall at Daryl's room. It's dark and quiet. I'm not sure how late it is. He might still be on guard duty. I know I need to distance myself from him, but the thought of how warm and safe I feel in his arms as me tiptoeing across the hallway.

In the moonlight streaming through the window, I can make out the outline of him lying on his side, facing away from me. I stand at the foot of the bed stuck in an internal debate of waking him or just crawling right in and hoping he doesn't put me in a chokehold.

I decide not to wake him, but the moment my knee touches the mattress, he stirs and I freeze. He turns over and it's hard to tell, but I don't think he looks all that surprised to see me. And I'm almost certain he doesn't plan on choking me out, so I crawl the rest of the way to him.

"Hey. Everything okay?" His voice is gravelly and low.

He lifts the covers, and I slip beneath them, turning on my side and settling in so my back is pressed to his chest. "I had a bad dream," I finally whisper.

His face is buried in the hair at my neck, and his lips brush my shoulder when he speaks. "Mmm. Wanna talk about it?"

I shake my head, and he slips his arm around my waist, pulling me in nice and snug. His other arm is draped across the pillow above my head, and I reach up and tug it down until I'm using it as a pillow. Then I tangle my fingers up with his and close my eyes.

He smells like leather and pine, and I breathe him in. All my tension slowly falls away, and I feel myself relaxing. I'm drifting in and out of consciousness when I feel the slow press of his lips to my shoulder. It makes my skin tingle, and that's the last thing I remember. I fall asleep. I don't dream. I forget about the nightmare. I may not deserve Daryl Dixon, but I think I might need him.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I wanted to get this chapter up on Saturday, but a friend showed up on my doorstep, ugly crying and broken-hearted over a boy. Anyway, we had to go to the bar. It's tradition. I'm sure you can all imagine what a shit show it was. My leg is in a full cast, and they decided to take me in a wheelchair since I end up crashing into things when crutches are involved. Let me tell you, letting your three drunks friends push you around a very crowded room with your injured limb sticking out is not a good idea. I was rammed into so many things. Bar stools, walls, bathroom stalls. People, you guys. I took out so many peoples shins. Jesus. Anyway, Sunday I was down and out and in so much pain, but you can thank my friend for this chapter. She instigated the hell out of it and motivated me to get it posted. I'm hoping to have another chapter up by Friday, but I feel like I need to take a few days to do some plotting because winging it will have this story all over the place. Sorry I'm so ramble-y. It's in my nature.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><em>Daryl<em>**

I'm dreaming. I must be.

Because there's no way in hell Beth is rubbing her perfect, round ass against my dick right now. My eyes are definitely open though, and I can smell her soft, floral shampoo. I press a kiss to her shoulder, taste the salty, sweet tang of her skin and realize there's no possible way this isn't real.

It's been a week since she had that nightmare and came to me in the middle of the night. She's slipped into my bed every night since and always sneaks out before dawn. During daylight, she avoids the hell out of me. Shit, we've barely said two words to each other since all that crap at the orchard went down. And I'm okay with that, because I don't think it has anything to do with us, rather than something she's struggling to come to terms with internally. In that time, I've gotten pretty comfortable touching her, letting her touch me. Probably too comfortable. But it seems to calm her down. Make her feel safe. I don't plan putting a stop to it. This is the first time anything like _this_ has happened though.

I reach back and feel around until my fingers touch the plastic switch on the lamp. I flip it on and dim light fills the room. It's still dark out. Probably getting close to dawn.

I look back at Beth, who's still grinding her hips into mine, and realize _she_ is the one who's sleeping. Her eyes are shut tight, and her lips are parted, but I'm certain she's dreaming. She's got this look of pure concentration on her face like she doesn't want to wake up, and I feel like a shithead when I put my hand on her shoulder and gently shake her.

Her lashes flutter up, and she blinks a few times, dazed. Slowly, she stops moving her hips as if she only just realized what she was doing. She turns over a little, our hips still locked in the perfect spoon, her shoulders tilted back so she can look at me. I watch a blush rise from her delicate collar bones to her cheeks.

"Was I just . . ." Her voice trails off uncertainly.

I nod my head slowly, unable to keep the corners of my lips from flipping into a smirk like a bastard.

"Jesus Christ." She covers her face with her hands and groans.

"Good dream?" Seriously, I'm a bastard.

She spreads her fingers apart, peeking at me from behind them. She looks like she wants to disappear. I tug her hands down and look at her expectantly. "It would've been," she finally says, her voice starkly confident compared to moments ago. "If you hadn't woken me before I got to finish."

She scoots away from me like she's gonna get up and leave. As if I'd let her after she just said that. I tuck my arm back down, around her waist, and pull her right back against my bare chest. Propping myself up on my elbow, I gather the hair at the nape of her neck and tilt her head back, exposing her neck. I run my tongue along her skin, stopping to nip the sensitive spot below her ear.

"You didn't get to finish?" I blow on the spot I was nibbling moments before, and she practically whimpers as she shakes her head.

"Do you want to?" I ask, pushing her tank top up as I move my hand along her stomach. I feel her skin prickle with goose bumps as my fingertips pass.

She lets out a breathy sigh and nods, but that's not enough. I want to see her. I need to be damn sure that I'm not doing anything wrong here. I scoot back and guide her shoulder down until she's on her back, looking up at me. The dark, hungry sheen of her eyes tells me everything I need to know.

I lean in and take my time moving my mouth against hers. She has the best lips, sweet and sure, quick and insistent. Her kisses press into determined, like she's mapping my mouth with her tongue. She runs her hands down my chest and over my abdomen, stopping at the waistband of my briefs to trail her fingertips along my skin—back and forth, back and forth, like they're stuck in some sort of tortuous loop. Her lips leave mine, and she kisses her way up under my jaw. All logical thoughts exit stage left, and every shred of testosterone in me is full drive ahead.

I run the flat of my palm along her ribs, pushing her tank top farther up as I go. Slowly, so slowly, until her breasts are exposed. And fuck, they're perfect. I pause for a moment, waiting for her to show some sort of hesitation. But she's completely cool and confident right now, and it's sexy as hell.

I trail my lips along her collarbone, tracing my finger over the swell of her breasts. I wanna make her squirm, wanna see what she looks like when she lets go of everything and comes undone. I press slow, light kisses along the curve of each breast until she's arching her back and pressing into me with a fervent, hungry need. I drop my mouth to one of her nipples and suck it into my mouth, teasing. She gasps and knots her hands in my hair. I reach around her back and run my fingertips down the line of her spine, down to her ass, loving the way it makes her shiver.

I drag my hand back over her hip and slip it under her cotton shorts, my fingers hooking under the lacey elastic of her panties. I trace the v of her legs, until they meet in the middle, and gently part her legs. With an aching slowness, I push the fabric to the side and brush the tip of my thumb over her skin. She's wet, and my mind loses any control over where we're going or what we're doing. There were girls before the turn. Usually after too much beer or too much whiskey. Bleary eyed girls that I didn't give a shit about. Damn sure never did anything like this with them. Never let them sleep over neither. Never wanted to. Beth is different. I want to make her feel things. I want to be good to her.

I move my mouth to her other breast and slide my thumb along her slick folds, running it back and forth until I feel her swollen clit. She pulls at my hair and moans loudly, pressing harder against my hand. I get lost in the animalistic need clawing at the edges of my brain. I want to make her come.

"Daryl," she pants after a minute. "I need—I need—"

I know exactly what she needs—an orgasm. Preferably one that ends with her screaming my name. I press one of my fingers into her, slowly. She's tight and hot, and the thought of replacing my hand with my cock makes me dizzy. I could. Beth and I could sleep together. Right now. I want to. Fuck, I want to. Moderation, though. That's the key here. She's been skittish as hell since I got her back. I'm not about to fuck it all up by overwhelming her.

I lean forward and bury my face in her neck. She lifts her hips and moans, giving me access to drive deeper. I slip a second finger into her and do just that, using my thumb to rub circles where she's most sensitive without mercy.

I suck and nibble the skin of her neck, leaning farther forward every time she squirms back, refusing to let any amount of space come between us.

She's on her back with my body covering hers when she begins to shake. I know she's close. I can feel it in her muscles, all coiled tight, like springs under too much pressure. I can hear it in her labored breathing. Her cries. Her moans. The way she keeps calling my name like a prayer. She's right on the edge, ready to tumble, but refusing to let go at the same damn time.

I lower my mouth to her ear and trace my tongue along her earlobe. "You gotta come for me, Beth." I press a kiss to the spot I just licked, moving my hand faster and rubbing her clit with more pressure.

"I can't," she moans, crushing her body against mine as she lifts up, straining to be closer. "I've never—" But even as she's saying the words, it's happening. She pulls hard on my hair, holding my head against her chest as the thud of her pulse sky rockets and her entire body goes tense for a quick second. She lets go with loud, long, shaky moan that ends in my name.

Then everything goes soft, and I catch her by the shoulders, lowering her down to the bed as she goes limp. She stays there for a moment, completely still aside from her labored breathing. I pull my hand out of her shorts and tug her tank top back down, watching in awe as she rides out the waves of pleasure and comes back to planet earth, the fire in her blue eyes simmering until the only thing left is pure content. It's sexy as hell.

There's a sheen of sweat covering her skin, and she laughs a little when she pulls the strands of hair stuck to her neck away. "Holy shit," she pants, and I try not to let the fact that her legs are still trembling go straight to my head.

She blinks three times and shakes her head like she's coming out of a fog, and then she does a complete three sixty. She presses a hand to her face, which is still flushed from how hard she just came. Her eyes lose their sexy glaze and snap, bright and totally full of regret. It feels like a punch to the gut. Within seconds, her lashes are wet with tears, and I'm completely clueless as to what the fuck is happening.

I hold my palms up. "Whoa, whoa. Did you not—was that not—" I have no idea what to say.

She sits up and presses her fingers to her temples, exhaling a sharp, short breath. "We shouldn't have done that. I'm no good for you. I know I keep sneaking in here, but I can't help it. I shouldn't have let that happen though. I should go. I should definitely go." She scoots toward the edge of the bed like her mind is made up, but I stop her. I sit up and pull her into my lap, and she lets me, which must be a good sign. Or at very least, not completely bad. Her reaction is freaking me out, but I can't let her leave without some sort of explanation.

The tears slide down her face silently, and I take her face between my hands, doing my best to brush them away with my thumbs. "You gotta talk to me."

She stares down at her intertwined hands, fidgeting. "I'm just . . . I'm not in a good place. After we got separated, I changed. I did stuff—bad stuff. I've killed people, Daryl. More than I care to count. There are just so many bad people out there now, and it's like I kept finding all of them. Or they kept finding me. And I know I did what I had to do. It's what I had to do but—" She stops and looks right at me, and the far away look in her eyes is chilling. "My head is all messed up. _I _am all messed up. That's why you need to stay away from me. It's better that way."

"Beth. It's okay," I say slowly, like I'm not completely shaken up because she just gutted me with her admissions. "I've killed people too. We all done things we ain't proud of. Sometimes you gotta. Sometimes you don't have a choice. Ain't no chance in hell I'm stayin' away from you. Ain't gotta be like that, and it ain't gonna be. You gotta let that shit out, and then you gotta let it go."

She bites her lip, not because she's turned on or flustered, but because she's trying to stop more tears. "It's different for me though. I can't let it go. I just can't. It's follows me around, you know? "

I nod, because I know entirely too well what it's like to sit and stew over shit like that. And it can be toxic as hell. "You gotta talk to someone bout it." I keep my voice cautious, because as much as I'd like to be aggressive with this conversation, I know that might shut her down.

She snorts. "Like who? Maggie?" There's a sharp edge to her tone that lets me know that's not even an option. The obvious answer is me, but I don't want to press her just yet.

I brush her hair over her shoulder as I consider her other options. "Lemon?"

"I can't talk to Lemon about this stuff. She's my only friend here, and she wouldn't—" She pauses to take a shaky breath. "She wouldn't want to be my friend if she knew about some of the stuff I've done."

"You don't know that."

"I don't care. Even if I could talk to her about it, I don't want to. Lemon is good. I don't want her knowing how shitty it gets outside of the walls. It's better that way. She needs to stay in her own little bubble where everything bad she hears about it and sees is just a fluke. She needs to keep thinking there's more good out there than bad."

I untangle her hands and take them in mine. "Then maybe you should keep sneakin' in here." I trace my thumb over the raised pink skin of the scar on her wrist. The only one I actually know the story behind. The one I was a complete asshole about, because I was scared. "Maybe you should talk to me."

She's quiet for a long time, but she doesn't pull away. And neither do I. I don't know when it happened, or why, but I'm comfortable with this. With all these intimate moments that should send me running. It feels right, and even though it doesn't make any fucking sense, I don't want to stop.

"Alright," she finally says, and I ignore the fact that she looks so uncertain. "It's just—you have to be patient with me. I'm don't think I'm ready. Yet. I know this hard to believe, because there was a time when I'd never shut up, but I'm not very good at the talking thing anymore.

I chuckle a little, because I can't help it. How in the hell are we supposed to figure this whole thing out if we both suck at talking? Can't let that stop me though. We just started something. I'm not about to let her shut me out, because we're both emotionally stunted.

I know I need to back pedal a little, because something physical isn't want she needs. But damn if that doesn't stop me from sliding my palm under her jaw and kissing her. And she lets me. Lets me run my other hand under the thin cotton of her shirt and pull her in tight. She moans into my mouth and twines her hands around my neck, but she doesn't relax and melt into me the way I hoped she would. She holds on for dear life. Like she's afraid to let go.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

I've spent all morning at the shooting range with Lemon, _trying_ to train her on a compound bow. We've been here every day this week, and she's not getting any better. Like, at all.

I watch as she sets up to take a shot. Her arms are flimsy, and her stance is all wrong, and I can tell she aiming left. I've corrected her twenty times in the last hour, but it goes right in one ear and out the other. She cocks the bowstring back and then releases it before taking a moment to steel herself. The bolt goes flying down the range and not only misses the paper target but also the entire hay bale it's tacked to.

"You're not doing it right," Eugene says in complete sincerity.

She turns around and shoots him a look. "Shut up, Eugene. It's not like you're some expert."

His eyebrows knit together. "I could probably do better than you."

"Okay, fine. So show me then. Since you're so good and perfect at everything! Go right ahead." She shoves the bow at him and drops the quiver of arrows on the ground. They've been bickering like this all day. Adam's on a nearby bench with Duke, watching the entire thing like it's amusing, and I have to admit, it sort of is.

But when Eugene manages to hit the target, right near the center, no less, Lemon rounds on him and I'm certain she's about to punch him in the throat. I'm getting ready to intervene when she reaches out and twists one of his nipples through his shirt. She reaches out to tug on one of the curls of his mullet, but he shoves her away.

"I suck at this," she announces as she drags herself over to me.

"Don't say that," I chide. "You don't suck. You just need practice."

Eugene opens his mouth like he's about to correct me, because I think we all know she isn't getting any better, but I shake my head once, my subtle way of telling him to keep his prodigal mouth shut.

Lemon pulls my attention back to her by poking me in the side with a finger. "Why are you so smiley this morning?" She's grinning like she knows something I don't know.

I try to frown, but frowning at Lemon is like trying to lick your own elbow. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think someone got laid," she sing-songs. "And I think that someone is you."

I scoff. "I did not."

"Yes, you did." She points her polished index finger at me, totally accusing. "Was it _Daryl_?"

My ears go flaming, like on-fire red, I know they do because I can feel the molten lava flowing through them. And there isn't jack I can do about it. I know she sees it, because she's practically falling all over herself as she squeals and grabs hold of my shoulders. "I knew it! You and Daryl finally crashed the custard truck! Tell. Me. Everything."

I'm about to deny it when Adam cuts me off. "Gross! I don't want to hear about Dixon's dick! Come on, Eugene. Let's get out of here."

"I did not have sex with Daryl!" I stomp my foot, but they're already walking away at a brisk pace. I yell after them. "I don't know anything about his—_thing_!"

I spin around to face Lemon, and she's smiling like the Cheshire cat. "Spill."

"Nothing happened," I object way too quickly.

"Something happened," she insists. "I can tell."

How could she possibly tell? I roll my eyes but feel some of my resolve fall away. No matter how annoying this conversation may be, it's kind of. nice to talk to someone about it. "Okay, fine. Something _did_ happen. Not sex though. That day at the orchard, we sort of . . . made out."

She arches a brow at me. "How do you 'sort of' make out with someone?"

"We got interrupted."

She lets out a sheepish laugh. "Right. The thing with the walkers. So you got interrupted, but . . ." She waves her hand through the air, trying to coax more out of me.

I shrug one shoulder. "We've sort of been sharing a bed."

She arches a brow at me again, higher this time. "'Sort of' sharing a bed?"

"Yeah," I grumble. "Like cuddling." My cheeks feel like they're on fire.

She throws her head back and laughs, loud and loose. "I can't believe it! You're telling me Daryl Dixon is a cuddler?"

"Shut up." I shove her, but I can't deny the smile tugging at my lips. Here, with Lemon, talking about my ridiculous crush, I feel normal. The rainy, black cloud that's usually overhead, waiting like an ominous threat, is no where in sight. The skies are blue, the air is fresh, and I am happy to be alive.

* * *

><p>An afternoon spent on the wall spearing walkers has left me crabby and exhausted. I sit with Lemon and Adam at dinner and ignore Maggie's glaring. I don't have the strength to deal with her right now. I need a good night's rest and a soft pillow, which is exactly where I'm headed.<p>

I'm almost to the staircase when I hear Maggie call my name. Determined to pretend I didn't hear, I keep walking, but she calls after me again. Louder this time. "Beth, wait up! Beth!"

I stop and turn to face her, trying not to look half as dreadful as I feel. Glenn is pushing her toward me in a wheelchair, and her eyebrows are pressed down low over her eyes, like she's really about to let me have it. I know this is because I haven't been by her room since that morning after the campfire, when I stormed out on breakfast.

Her green eyes anchor me in a sharp gaze as she gets closer. "Have you been avoiding me?"

I crack my knuckles then remind myself not to fidget and let my hands dangle at my sides. "No?" I don't know why it comes out sounding like a question, but it does. Glenn steps away and turns his back to give us some privacy.

"I haven't seen you all week," she counters. I hate how it feels like she's accusing me of something.

I shrug. "I've been busy."

"With what?" she presses, her eyes narrowing. "What's so important that you can't stop by for ten minutes?"

I feel anger roll through my veins. I want to ask her what was so important that she wrote me off all those days ago—why she never even tried to find me. To her, I was as good as dead the same day Daddy was. I beat down the urge to bring it up, because I'm trying to be fair.

I level her gaze. "I've been training Lemon on a bow. She wants to learn."

"I don't think that's such a good idea." Maggie crosses her arms over her chest. It's supposed to look defiant, but she just looks silly with them resting on her big belly. "That girl and her dog are always finding trouble. I don't trust her, Bethy. You should stay away from her."

The anger that's been boiling beneath my skin comes roaring to the surface, and I can't swallow it down any longer. "You better watch your mouth, Maggie." I'm practically growling at her, and I hardly recognize my voice. "That _girl_ and her dog saved my ass. She's the only reason I'm here! You sure as shit weren't out there looking for me, were you?"

Maggie gasps, and her hard exterior crumbles. "It's not like that."

I shake my head, because I can't do this. Can't stand here and look at her, feeling sorry for herself, because she's stuck with me. It's written all over her face. In every crease of her forehead, every tilt of her chin, every wrinkle around her frown. She doesn't understand how her baby sister could have gotten here—callous and mean, staring at her with eyes like stone.

"What happened to you?" she whispers, chin quivering. "Why are you being like this?"

"I changed." My voice is hard. "The Beth you knew died the day you and Glenn decided to ride off into the sunset with a group of strangers. To Washington. You remember that, right?"

Her jaw drops, and Glenn whirls around. My chest burns with sweet retribution, and I know it's sick. How much I want them to hurt right now. But I can't stop myself. Eugene let the entire thing slip out days ago. I know everything now. That not only did she give up on me, but she gave up _first_.

"We had to," she stammers. "We thought—we thought they had a cure. And the group. We needed them. We would've died without—"

"I don't care," I cut her off icily. "You made your choice, Maggie."

I walk away for her, and I don't feel a thing. I say goodbye to the final shred of the girl I once was. She's a ghost now. Nothing but a memory. Just gone.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. They really keep me going!<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**_Daryl_**

I step out on the terrace to have a smoke after dinner. Got in late from guard duty, and by the time I made it to the dining room, most everyone had cleared out. Beth included. Damn girl's like a ghost during the waking hours. Wish she'd just throw me a bone. Our conversation this morning was a start, and I'll take that. And she asked for time. I can give her time.

I wander down the steps aimlessly, taking a long drag off my cigarette. The sun is dipping on the horizon, taking its rays with it, and it's almost dark out. The moon is already out, nice and full. I reach the bottom of the stairs and step onto the grass. It's been trimmed short. Someone must've mowed. Probably Rick. He's the only one who cares about shit like that. I guess it's nice though. Probably took care of his own yard like this before the turn. Bet it wasn't nothing like this lawn, which goes on for fucking days. But I'm sure it was nice. That's the kinda man Rick is. Doing shit like this is good for him.

I'm stubbing out my cigarette when I hear a distant giggle. I freeze and listen. The second one is louder and filters into full blown laughter. I follow it to the side of the building then along the tall, stone fence that separates the front lawn from the back. It's the same fence that surrounds the property, but there's no threat of walkers here.

After a minute, I stumble upon the source. Beth and Lemon. I can clearly make out their silhouettes, sitting up on the fence, right out in the middle. It takes them a long moment to notice me approaching, but once they do it shuts their giggling right down.

"Oh, shit," Lemon hisses. "Put it out. Put it out!"

She's slapping at something in Beth's hands, and Beth slaps back. I walk a little faster, because I'm worried they're drunk and one of them is going to teeter off the wall and fall.

"Hurry up," Lemon whisper-shouts. "Oh my God. Oh my God. He's right there. We should run. Let's run. I'm running—"

She twists around like she's gonna jump down on the other side, but Beth grabs hold of her arm and anchors her in place. "Hush."

That's when I smell it. I'm still a few yards away, but I'd recognize that scent anywhere. A slow smile pulls at my lips, because I can't believe it. Beth and Lemon are out here smoking weed and whispering like a pair of guilty teenagers. Now I knew Lemon had Dr. S wrapped around her finger and direct access to his stash of "medicinal" cannabis, but I'm a little shocked to find Beth here.

They're both fluffing their hair, and straightening their spines, and trying to look as innocent as possible when I come to a stop in front of them.

I tilt my head back to look up at them. "What's goin' on up there?"

"Nothing," Lemon blurts. "We aren't doing anything."

I raise my eyebrows, and she rushes on. "It was Beth's idea!"

I raise my eyebrows higher. "That right?"

Beth just shrugs one of her shoulders. "Got into it with Maggie."

I still can't believe she's out here smoking a joint. I look up at the wall. It's tall, a good seven feet. We have ladders set up around the perimeter, since climbing up and using a spear is the easiest way to take care of walkers that stack up on the spikes. Ain't no ladders on this part of this fence though.

I shake my head, can't hide my smile. "How'd y'all even get up there?"

"Wasn't easy." Beth laughs. "I kicked Lemon in the head a few times. She might have a concussion."

I chuckle. They really are something else. Lemon is good for Beth. With the rest of the group, Beth stays wound up tight. She plasters on this fake smile that fools all of them. But with Lemon, she's always got this grin that looks like it ripped out of somewhere deep. One that goes all the way to her eyes.

I lift my bow off my shoulder and lean it up against the wall by Beth's. "Y'all gonna invite me up or what?"

Beth grins, and her teeth look extra white against the approaching night sky. "C'mon up, Dixon. If you can climb, you can join us."

I have to get a running start, but I manage to jump high enough to hook my arms over the ledge. Then it's just a matter a pulling myself up. The rough surface scratches at my skin, but it's a small price to pay, because once I'm settled I'm close enough to Beth that my arm keeps brushing her shoulder. Each touch feels like a jolt of electricity. Didn't ever think I'd find a girl that made me feel sparks. Didn't think shit like that even existed. But damn, it does. And she's it for me.

"What happened with Maggie?" I venture.

Beth hands Lemon a lighter, and Lemon gets busy re-lighting the joint they abandoned in a panic. "She was giving me shit about not coming by her room," Beth answers with a shrug. "Things are weird between us right now. Guess I'm just mad about her taking off to Washington."

The muscles in my shoulders coil up. "You knew about that?"

"Yeah." She flicks her wrist through the air like it's no big deal. "Eugene was telling me about meeting up with the group and Terminus. The Maggie thing just sort of slipped out after."

Beth takes the joint from Lemon and holds it out to me, but I shake my head. "I shouldn't." I try to keep my head screwed on tight. Just in case shit goes bad.

"Come on." She bumps me with her shoulder. "Nothing's gonna happen. This place is boring."

I snort, but she's right. These walls are tall and thick. Ain't nothing taking them down. Been awhile since we were threatened by another group, and even if it happened again, even if it happened right now, we have enough men and enough artillery that they wouldn't need me.

Beth lifts it to her lips and inhales deeply. She holds it in for a few beats then leans in and blows the smoke right in my face, the space between my mouth and hers microscopic. It feels like a dare, and it takes every ounce of strength in me not to suck that bottom lip into my mouth just to show her who she's messing with. The smoke is earthy and thick, mixed in with the sweet smell of her shampoo. Why is my dick getting hard? Fuck.

I take the joint from her and take a long drag before passing it back. Her fingertips brush mine, and it feels like it was on purpose. Like maybe all these little touches set her off balance just as much as they do me. I laugh when I blow the smoke out. "Didn't think I'd ever see the day when you'd be the one corruptin' me, Greene."

She'd done it with the moonshine too. I was stressed and tore up. Thought we'd lost everyone. We were in a damn shack. Weren't in no position to be drinking shine like we were safe. But I gave in then too. I was a real asshole that night, but I can't regret it. Something happened that night. She tore her way through all my walls and wormed her way under my skin, and I ain't ever been able to shake her since.

Beth is opening her mouth to respond when Lemon interrupts. "You guys better not start getting all romantic and shit out here. I mean, I know we're under the stars and Beth has pretty hair, but please control yourself, Daryl." Her tone is teasing, and instead of barking back at her I just grunt a response. Guess I'm getting used to a lot of shit I never thought I would. Beth laughs, and I decide Lemon can snipe at me all she wants.

Lemon thumps Beth on the knee. "You gonna finish telling me about the hospital?"

I perk up a little, because this is something I want to hear about. I know about Grady Memorial, because I'd eventually managed to track that car down. I want to hear her side of the story though. Beth, and many of the hospitals occupants, were long gone by the time I got there. Just got to talk to some doctor. He gave me Beth's knife and some bracelets they'd taken off of her when she was admitted. Told me she'd escaped before shit really went down there. I haven't worked up the nerve to return her stuff yet. Guess I'm waiting for the right moment. Either that or I'm a chicken shit.

"Alright," Beth says. "Where were we?"

"You and Daryl at the funeral home," Lemon reminds her. She sounds like she's smirking, and I wonder if Beth told her about our dinner. All that candlelight. And that charged conversation. That quiet, "_Oh_." That was the moment that set everything in motion for us. And then it was all shut down and taken away before I could even blink.

"Right. So the last thing I remember, I was sitting at the table with Daryl. I have a few flashes of running into the woods. A pair of orderlies taking me. Then everything goes blank and the next thing I know I'm waking up there, in a hospital room. They said I had a fractured wrist and a superficial head wound. That they found me struggling with walkers in the middle of the road."

"It didn't seem bad at first. Things were quiet there, but something just seemed off, you know? I didn't wanna stay. I wanted to get back out there and find my group. But they had this system there. For all the resources you use, you pay them back with time."

"I met this kid, Noah, there. Thank God. We got out together—wasn't pretty though. I got shot in the head, and he tumbled halfway down an elevator shaft. We had to do it though. Yeah, it was safe. But the people there were dangerous."

Lemon gasps while I'm busy choking on my own spit. My entire body bristles. Lemon beats me to the question. "They _shot_ you?"

Beth laughs a little, but it sounds strained. "Yeah. Bunch of cops ran the place, and they were the worst kind, always making plays for power. That's why they took me in. Guess I looked weak enough when they came across me. They wanted wards they could boss around, talk down to. And, you know, take advantage of. Anyway, they didn't take to our defiance too well. Bullet barely grazed me though." She touches a spot in her hair, and I know it's because there's a scar there. It makes me sick. I can't believe she's talking about a head wound like that, like it's no big deal.

My chest feels like someone just tossed a handful of shiny, sharp nails into it. I didn't know. After I met the doctor, I had this crazy hope that maybe things weren't so bad there. I didn't know. Fuck. A million questions are running through my head. Did they hurt her? They obviously hurt her. Is that how she got the scars on her face? Did they take advantage of her? I can't even think about that without an icy rage seeping into my veins like poison. My hands are clenched into fists so tight, they're paling, and blood is roaring in my ears.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

"Oh my God, Beth!" Lemon throws her arms around my shoulders and squeezes until it hurts. "That must have been awful."

"Nah." I shake my head to play it off. "Me and Noah got out quick. I was lucky to have his help."

Daryl's stiff as a board beside me, his arms flexed tight like he's about to go all incredible hulk. I reach one hand out and move a finger along his knuckles. That tiny brush of a touch seems to jolt him out of his thoughts.

"What happened to Noah?" Lemon asks. She sounds concerned. That's just the kind of person Lemon is. She's worries about everyone—even people she doesn't know.

The joint we've been passing in a circle is down to nothing. I lean forward and stub it out on the side of the wall. "Noah headed to Richmond to look for family, and I stayed in Georgia to do the same. I got lucky and found some signs Maggie left for Glenn. Then I found a map with Rick's name on it. I was following that route when y'all found me. I don't know what happened to Noah, but I hope he found what he was looking for."

Lemon lays her head on my shoulder. "Thanks for telling me, Beth."

I shrug my other shoulder like it's nothing, because honestly when Lemon asked about it, it wasn't hard to tell. I left out all the gory details, but I got some of it out. And Daryl was right. I feel better.

I lean up against Daryl, and we stay that way for a long time. Lemon's head on my shoulder. My head on Daryl's shoulder, the hum of cicadas and the bustle of swaying trees surrounding us. Eventually, Carol's voice carries through the night, breaking the sleepy calm when she calls Lemon's name from the back terrace.

"Oh, shit!" Lemon shoots up and pats down her hair. "I promised to help her with pastries for breakfast tomorrow. I gotta go. Help me down, would ya?"

I hold onto her arms as she gets on her stomach and slowly inches her way down the wall. When my arms are fully extended, I let go and she drops the remaining distance with a quiet thud. Then she lopes off in the direction of Carol's voice.

When she's gone, I tilt my head back and look up at the sky. "The stars are pretty tonight. Kinda reminds me of being on the farm. Before the turn. The sky always looked so different when you got away from the city. Guess it's always gonna be like that now, huh?"

"Mmm," Daryl hums, chin tipped back. "Guess so."

He slides his hand down slowly until it's close to mine. Then his pink finger brushes mine. I flip my palm up and our fingers intertwine. Everything feels good and right. We stay that way for a long time. Not moving, barely touching, staring up at the night sky. Everything is calm and quiet. Everything is still.

* * *

><p>My eyes are getting heavy by the time Daryl nudges my shoulder and mumbles something about going inside.<p>

I sit up and nod, stretching my arms over my head. He hops down first, stumbling a little when he hits the ground, but otherwise making it look easy. I go slower, laying on my belly and wiggling my way down the wall while I grip onto the ledge, which is tearing at the skin of my fingers.

When my arms are fully extended, I dangle there for a moment, uncertain. Then I feel Daryl's hands on my waist, warm and strong. "C'mon," he says gruffly. "I got ya."

I let go, and he lowers me down, my back brushing his chest just before my boots find the ground. I push a few strands of hair out of my eyes and twist around to face him. "Thanks." His hands are on my hips, and it makes me voice come out all breathy.

I can see the gleam of his smile in the dark, and I take a step closer to him. I don't even know if it's voluntary or if my body has decided on its own to get closer. That smile draws me in whether I want it to or not, and now we're chest to chest.

I tilt my chin up, and he's looking down at me. I can feel the intensity of his gaze, and it sends my heart into a frantic rhythm. I want to kiss him.

I put my hands on his chest and rise to my tiptoes. He leans down at the same time, meeting me in the middle. He kisses me once, twice, three times, pulling back hair's breadth each time while reeling me closer and closer until I'm completely off-balance and curving into him.

I trace my tongue along the soft, full part of his lower lip, and he opens his mouth. Our tongues finally touch, tangling and teasing at a leisurely pace. His hands skim up my waist and slide under my jaw, tilting my head to the side to deepen the kiss.

When he nips my bottom lip then pulls it into his mouth, it makes my head spin. I have to put a hand on his chest to steady myself. I feel his heart leaping under my palm, and like mine, it's racing.

A few more hungry nips, and the kiss isn't so sweet anymore. Now it's rushed. Frantic. Clawing. He reaches down, wraps his hand around my thigh, and tugs, almost roughly. I lock it around his waist and bring my other around to do the same. One arm wraps around the small of my back and the other cradles my head as he backs me into the wall and presses his hips against mine with a hungry need that makes my head dip and spin. My hands tangle in his hair, and a growl comes from deep in his throat. The noise triggers waves of need in my belly that coil and spring like stretchy filaments of connection to every nerve ending I have.

I unknot and unravel so fast, I would be a puddle on the ground if he weren't holding me up. All ability to think logically flips off like a switch, and I spread my legs wider so I'm crushed against the hard length straining against his jeans. My hands move on their own. I tug at his shirt until our mouths break apart long enough to yank it half over his head, leaving it hanging off one shoulder.

He drags his hand from my head to my neck, then over my collarbone, between my breasts. His fingers keep skimming down until they reach the hem of my shirt. Then they slip beneath, and he traces the sensitive skin just above the waistline of my jeans. It sends a zing of electricity right through my middle.

He tears his mouth away from mine and drags it along the line of my jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses down my neck, then along the base of my throat to my collarbone. My head falls back as a moan comes tumbling out, and I bump my head. But the pain barely even registers through this lust induced fog.

I pull my fingers down his neck, scratching lightly, then drag them over his chest, bumping over the ridges of his defined chest. They skim all the way to his hard abdomen and the coarse trail of hair that disappears into his jeans. Even though I know it's a danger zone, I keep them there, my thumbs trailing back and forth over his happy trail. I'm playing with fire, and I love it.

His mouth crashes back to mine, his arm tightening around my back as his free hand goes to my belt and pulls it through the buckle. In one smooth motion, he flicks the button of my jeans open. With his tongue sweeping across mine, he reaches for my zipper. It's the mechanical tug of the metal that seems to snap both of us out of the trance.

The tips of his fingers are coasting over the fabric of my underwear. Slowly, he pulls his mouth away and leans his forehead against mine. The echo of our breathing, so thunderous just a moment ago, fades as we come out of the frenzy we worked ourselves into.

Daryl laughs a little, it's low and rough, and I feel his chest vibrate beneath my hands. "What're we doin', Greene?"

I can only laugh, because we must look ridiculous. Daryl's shirt is hanging from his elbow. My pants are undone, and I'm sure we both have sex hair, swollen lips, and dilated pupils. Thank God the only light comes from the silver moon above.

He lowers me to the ground slowly. I have to put my hands on his chest to steady myself, because my legs are trembling. I'm a little embarrassed until he reaches down to button my jeans back up, and I realize his hands are shaking too.

I watch as he threads the strap of my belt back through the buckle and cinches it tight. I let go of him, so he can take a step back and put his shirt back on. I pull the tie out of my hair and re-do it. When I'm done, Daryl hands me my bow, and I slip the strap over my shoulder and try not to think about the fact that we were both trying to rip each others clothes off moments ago. If we hadn't been here, out in the open, who knows what could have happened.

Daryl is doing some dirty, dirty things to me in my mind, when actual, real-life Daryl pulls me back to reality. "I know this is shit for timing and you probably won't care, but I wanted to let you know that I'm goin' on a run. Leavin' tomorrow mornin'."

"Okay," I say slowly, trying to figure out exactly what he's trying to tell me here. "So you'll be gone tomorrow?"

I hear him swallow. "Yeah. Gonna be gone tomorrow and then some."

I frown. "Where are you going?"

"Taking a group up to Maine. Mark's been scouting cargo ships out that way. Found a shipment of AR's and ammo . . . and toothpaste. So we're gonna take some of the semis and haul back what we can."

"So how long will you be gone?" My heart feels like it just dropped out of my chest.

He shrugs. "A week. Maybe two. Guess it just depends."

I tense up. Instantly. My muscles have gone from jelly to stone, and I hate that it happens so fast. And I hate that I feel a distinct, shitty hollowness take root with his words. One that I have no clue how to begin filling. One that I don't even understand. My throat feels tight, and I know I'm being overly emotional, but I feel like I just got sucker punched.

"For toothpaste? Are you kidding me? That's so stupid." I start to stalk away. He follows. "We don't even need toothpaste! We have shelves and shelves of toiletries in the basement. I've seen them. We're literally stocked for life. It's probably not even good toothpaste, Daryl! I bet it's that special, whitening kind that got recalled, because it was stripping everyone's enamel away. Why else would it be there all perfect and untouched? You're gonna risk your life for some stupid toothpaste that's just gonna ruin everyone's enamel? I won't even be able to eat apples without my enamel! It's going to ruin everything."

"There's mouthwash too," he mumbles, and I whirl around to face him. The move is so abrupt, he doesn't even realize I've stopped walking and runs right into me. I stumble back, and he reaches out to steady me, but I side-step him and cross my arms over my chest. I'm glaring at him. I know he can't see, but anger is rolling off of me in waves, and I know he has to feel it.

"We don't need mouthwash." I'm dangerously close to stomping my foot like a child. "We don't need the weapons either. Our armory is solid. And we don't need the toothpaste. We don't."

"This isn't about the toothpaste, is it?" His voice gets soft on me, and when he reaches out to put a hand on my hip, I let him.

I take a deep breath and let it leak out in a wobbly whoosh of a breath. He's right—this isn't about the toothpaste, or the mouthwash, or the weapons, or the ammo. It's about him. The day he snapped at me for going on a run with Lemon, freaking out at the orchard . . . it suddenly all makes perfect sense.

"I don't want you go." My voice shakes a tiny bit, but I get a handle on it.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest, trapping my hands between us. I let out a shuddery sigh and bury my head in his chest. We just started something. He can't go. Not now.

He runs his hand over my hair. "I'll be back," he murmurs. "Won't take no time."

I nod my head, my cheek brushing against the rough fabric of his shirt. He keeps me wrapped up in his embrace, and I'm glad. I'm not ready to let go. I can't. In all honesty, I'm terrified. Because for the first time in a long time, I have something to lose. Something I would do anything to keep.

* * *

><p>The next morning, I wake up slowly. Daryl's long arm is wrapped around my waist, and my back is pressed to his chest. It's the same position we wake up in most days. I prop myself up on my elbow and glance over my shoulder.<p>

The patch of sky I see out the window over the crest of Daryl's shoulder is as purple as a fresh bruise, the remnants of the night sky slowly being chased away by the encroaching dawn. I'm usually up and outside before there's any sign of light, but today I decided to nestle back up to Daryl and sleep in. And I know that has everything to do with the fact that he's leaving in a few hours, and I want to cling to him as long as humanly possible.

I stretch my arm over my head and yawn, twisting around to lay on my opposite side, facing him. His arm tightens around me, and I feel the press of his hard-on on my thigh. He murmurs something about _minutes_ and _more sleep_ and, eyes closed, dips his head to my neck, draws a long breath in, hums with contentment, and neatly flips me under his long body.

His kisses are feather-light and soft-lipped sweet, and my legs spread to nestle around his, pressing him against me. For one sweet skip of a second, I let my entire body soak in the hot-water-and-bubbles-good feel of him. Then the reality of him leaving sets in, and I sigh.

His eyes slither open, pure blue and instantly sharp with shaken-off sleep. "Mornin'." He pushes up, arms taut, and looks down at the v our jointed bodies make. "Excuse my enthusiasm."

I laugh a little. "Don't worry about it. Just a morning thing, right?"

"Yeah, sure. Just a mornin' thing." He pauses for a long second then rolls off of me with a crooked grin. It makes me ache. "I gotta hop in the shower. But if you want, we can grab breakfast together? If you ain't too worried about your enamel and apples and all . . . "

I shove his chest and sit up, biting my lip to stop my smile. "We can do that. Give me twenty minutes."

* * *

><p>Daryl sits with me and Lemon at breakfast. Daryl hardly ever comes to the dining room for meals, and when he does, he sits with Rick or Carol. Everyone looks pretty confused, aside from Maggie, who is busy shooting me looks that alternate between hurt and mad. It makes me bristle, but I do my best to ignore it. Leave it up to my big, bossy sister to treat me like I'm the one who did her wrong when <em>she<em> messed up.

I eat an apple and a piece of bread that Daryl forces on me. My stomach feels unsettled, and the entire time I can't stop thinking about him going. I mostly stay quiet. Lemon does enough talking for the three of us anyway. When we finish our meal, I follow Daryl out the front. The trucks are already there, and a few guys are loading the last of the supplies—crates of food, water, the necessities. This is it.

Daryl pulls me to the side. "Can't let you watch me leave, Greene."

"Why not?" My voice comes out shaky, and I hate that this is getting to me. I hate that I want to beg him to stay.

"Because." He puts his hands on my shoulders, and it spooks me a little because he doesn't usually touch me when people are around. Even if it's something as innocent as this. "The way you're lookin' at me is makin' me feel all tore up."

I swallow down a lump in my throat, but another one forms in its place. I manage to nod.

He flashes that half-grin, the one that usually makes my knees feel weak, but it doesn't have as much sunshine today. "Besides, you're just gonna be starin' at my ass the whole time, thinkin' about ravishing me, and I'm not just a piece of meat."

I shake my head and laugh a little despite myself. "You're full of yourself, you know that?"

He pulls me back a little more, so we're half hidden behind a large marble column. Then he tugs me into a hug. "I'm gonna be back before you know it," he says softly, his breath tickling my ear.

I take a deep breath, inhaling his woodsy, clean scent, then mumble into his chest. "I know."

We stay that way for a long moment. Then he lets me go, and I take a slow step back. I can see all the little slivers of silver in his eyes, and it makes me want to launch myself back into his arms. But I know I have to let him to do this. It's just part of the world we're living in.

I force a small smile, ignoring the threat of tears prickling behind my eyes. He swallows so hard I see the tendons in his neck strain. I know we both want to say more, but neither of us would know where to start, so I turn on my heel and walk back into the building.

Lemon is waiting for me with Duke sitting at her feet. "You okay?"

I shake my head and press the heels of my palms into my eyes. _I will not cry_. She takes me by the wrist and leads me away.

The words I said to Daryl so long ago echo through my head, _wouldn't kill ya to have a little faith_.

He'll be back. He will. He's gonna be the last man standing.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't worry, guys! Next chapter is probably gonna be a time jump to Daryl returning. The entire idea behind this story right now is that they're so safe, it's boring. It kind of forces them to realize what they feel for each other. So there won't be any crazy drama that keeps them separated and makes all of you want to show up at my house and beat me over the head with a shoe. I mean, things are just heating up! I can't yank them away from each other just yet. And of course, thank you for all the sweet reviews, and the follows and favorites too! Seriously some of y'all are so nice I just wanna find you in real life and squeeze you!<br>**


	11. Chapter 11

**Trigger warning: This chapter opens with a dream sequence that involves intent to sexually assault.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

_Please, let me wake up._

I hate remembering.

I'm back in the cold basement of some old Victorian house with yellow shutters and a blue door. I remember this place well. Remember the way it smelt, of mold and moth balls, and how the air felt heavy and wet in my lungs. I remember catching glimpses of family photos, reminders that this place was once a home. Pretty, smiling people. I clawed at them and kicked. I destroyed the glass and frames as my nails caught them and pulled them from the walls—dragging. A rough pair of hands were dragging me by the hair. My head felt heavy, but I fought.

I heard the twist of a knob and the click of a door opening. I was yanked to my feet then propelled forward. I didn't even have time to register the steps in front of me before I was tumbling down them. It hurt. I remember it hurt. My head was pounding; I had a cut above my temple, spilling blood down the side of my face. I worried some of my ribs had been broken. My ankle was suffering a bad sprain—it happened days before, but it's the entire reason I was caught.

After I split from Noah, I stuck to the tracks, following the signs to Terminus. The irony of all of this is that I'd been tracking _them_. The men who ended up taking me to that house. I was stupid, the hope of finding someone familiar fueling me into a frenzy—Maggie. I wanted to see Maggie. I didn't know they were monsters. Didn't know I was walking straight into their den until it was too late. Once they spotted me, there was no outrunning them. Not with my injury.

Now here I am. Back in the basement and reliving everything in real time in this god awful dream.

One of the men is coming down the stairs, his boots thudding and each step sounding like a threat. My gaze flicks in every direction. I know there's nothing I can use to defend myself here. I've already looked. He has no weapons himself, nothing I can lift. No holstered gun or knife on his belt. Probably figures he won't need them. Probably thinks I'm weak.

There's an eerie look on his face as he leans against the wall watching me. "You scared?"

I take a step back and square my jaw. "Ain't scared of nothin'," I spit, channeling my inner Dixon. If anyone could survive this situation, it would be him. I can be strong. I changed. I can get out of this. He has no idea who he's messing with. What I've been through.

Chuckling, he pushes off the wall and comes toward me. "Girl, you oughta be."

I hold my ground and force myself to speak. Now's not the time to fight. Not yet. "What do you want?"

Ignoring my question, he leans over and lifts my chin with his finger and thumb. His hands feel dirty. "Pretty thing, aren't ya? How old are you, anyway?" His face is close, his breath reminds me of sour milk, and his slicked back hair looks shiny with oil or sweat. He smells like whiskey, and his eyes are glassy. I can use that to my advantage.

My muscles coil up, ready to strike. I don't know what his plans are, but my gut tells me that I'm part of them. "Dunno," I answer through gritted teeth.

His gaze drops to the swell of my breasts. "You a woman yet?"

I don't answer him. My eyes dart to the staircase instead. But the instant I consider fleeing, he slams into me, and I crash to the cold concrete floor with a thud that knocks the breath out of me. I make a fist, preparing to jab it into his eye socket, but his hands encase my wrists and I'm flipped onto my stomach, his heavy body pressed against my back, before I can even blink. As I struggle to get up, he uses his weight, sitting on my legs, pinning my arms beneath him. He's so much bigger that my kicking and bucking doesn't do anything. He lets out an icy laugh, like he finds my efforts amusing. I hear the metallic clank of his belt before he grabs each of my wrists and secures them with the leather strap.

I try to look behind me, but he shoves my face roughly into the floor. The taste of copper fills my mouth as my teeth clamp down on the inside of my cheek to stop a cry. "I don't mind your fightin'." His rotting breath seeps across my neck. Stomach acid rises up my throat. "In fact, I like it."

He pulls back on the belt, lifting my shoulders off the ground and pressing his arousal against my backside. The right side of my face feels raw from rubbing against the gritty floor. He licks the bumpy vertebrae of my neck and slowly moves toward my ear. "Bet you're nice and tight. You're gonna like this, girl. You're gonna be begging for more."

He leans back and I hear the tug of his zipper. I swallow down the impulse to vomit. "Yeah, you're gonna like this." He grinds into me again and presses his lips to my ear. "You ready to scream, Barbie?"

I jerk my head back and manage to catch his chin. He lets out a grunt of pain as his palms come to my shoulders and press me down, hard. He cusses and spits by my face. I note the traces of blood in his saliva.

"You best quit that," he growls. "You aren't strong enough."

My eyes squeeze shut as I let that echo through my head. They're the same words I heard from that bitch at Grady Memorial before she got a pair of surgical scissors to the jugular—_you aren't strong enough_.

_I am strong._

I relax just enough to seem submissive. He loosens his hold on my shoulders, and I know his guard is coming down. He thinks he won. He thinks I'm weak. And now I'm gonna kill him.

I let him reach around my stomach and undo my belt. I wait until he goes for the button of my jeans. Then, in one smooth movement, I roll onto my shoulder and kick my way onto my back. His eyes are wide, the sudden movement taking him by surprise and jostling him back. I don't hesitate. I bring my knees to my chest and kick out hard. His pants are around his ankles and it sends him stumbling backward onto his ass.

I rock back, bring my knees up again, and push my bound hands down and around them so they're in front of my body. Then I lunge from him. He's dazed, and before he can even attempt to right himself. I'm on him, straddling his waist with my hands fisted into his shirt.

I yank him up by the shoulders and then slam him back down. The back of his head connects with the concrete floor with a sickening thwack. His eyes roll back and he groans. I don't hesitate before doing it again. And again. And again. Not even the gut wrenching crack of his skull stops me. A crazy, uncontrolled rage takes over.

I pick him up by the shoulders and slam his head against the ground until a puddle of thick blood surrounds us. My hands and legs are shaking from exhaustion as I stand and work my wrists free. I let the belt drop to the ground and check his pants for weapons. Finding nothing, I make my way up the old, wooden stairs without feeling an itch an remorse for the life I just took.

When I reach the door, I can hear the other three men, laughing. They have no idea I just killed one of their own with my bare hands. Have no idea I'd do the same to all of them if I had to. That I'd rip their throats out of their necks with my own teeth if that's what it took.

I find a handgun on the counter just outside the door. Idiot must have set it there before going downstairs. I check the clip to make sure it's loaded. Then I tip-toe to the kitchen.

They're gathered around the kitchen table. Empty bottle of whiskey in the middle and cards scattered about. Assholes.

I shoot two of them in cold blood. Right in the back of their heads without blinking. The third one is so drunk, he's slow to realize what's happening. When he finally sees me, his jaw drops and the cigarette falls from his mouth to the checkered linoleum below. He raises his hands. "Please—"

I don't let him finish. I pull the trigger and the bullet roars out of the chamber, splattering his forehead and spraying brain matter in a high arch. I turn and walk past all the pictures of the happy family. I don't look at them. I don't think. I don't feel a thing. When I step out the front door, I finally wake up.

I hate remembering.

* * *

><p>I withdraw my spear from a walker's eye socket, not even wincing at the sick sucking sound it makes. It doesn't even phase me anymore. I do the same to the two stacked up behind him and prepare to move to the next group.<p>

"Beth!"

I turn around, using my hand to block out the morning sun as I squint into the distance. Lemon is loping across the lawn with Duke. She's waving her hands with a huge grin on her face.

I climb down the nearest ladder and lean the spear against the wall before heading in her direction. She doesn't slow down as she reaches me, and when she grabs me by the shoulders, it sends both of us crashing to the ground.

She's gasping for breath, and I'd be worried if her eyes weren't crinkling at the edges from excitement. "It's Maggie," she pants. "She's having the baby!"

I sit up and push my hair out of my eyes. "What?" I heard her, but it's taking a little longer than it should for the words to sink in.

"Maggie's having the baby!" She hooks her arm through mine and hauls me off the ground. "Come on! It's time."

I don't say anything. I just follow her, half-jogging to keep pace with her frenzied steps. She's practically buzzing, and it stirs emotion deep in my gut. I should be excited. I should be buzzing too. So why does this feel so wrong? Why do I have the urge to turn and run until I don't remember who I am anymore? Why am I so scared to face this?

* * *

><p>We sit outside of Maggie's door for what has to be hours, side-by-side, backs pressed against the wall. It's probably nearing nightfall. Glenn's stepped out of the room a few times. Each time he's been covered in sweat, looking very much like he's on the verge of passing out. Honestly, he looks scared shitless, and I don't blame him. The wails coming from Maggie's room have everyone on edge. Lemon even looks a little worried, and Duke has been pacing for the last hour, letting out low whines that have my stomach in knots. I'm losing it.<p>

Daryl's been gone for nine days, and I've spent the entire time imagining every possible thing that could've gone wrong. It's making me sick. Add _this _on top of that, and it feels like something within me in snapping. Like the fine web of civility I wove around myself when I got here is finally shredding. I'm about to crack.

Carol brings us a plate of dinner and sits with us for awhile. Lemon picks at the food, but I can't even stomach looking at it. We don't speak. We all just listen. Maggie's cries are closer together now, and I can hear Dr. S coaching her through the contractions. She wants to push, but he says it isn't time. It's tearing me up.

After awhile, Carol pats my leg and gets to her feet. She doesn't say anything before she goes. Just gives me a small smile that makes me feel like maybe everything will be okay. Then Adam comes along with a bowl of dog food for Duke. Duke sniffs it when he sets it on the ground, but he doesn't seem to have an appetite either, and that knots me right back up.

Glenn comes out later, looking freaked out as ever. I offer him my bottle of water and takes it with a shaky smile before downing the entire thing. "It's almost time," he tells me, and my heart slams against my chest. I want to say so much. I want to be in there, holding her hand. But I know I have no right. Not with things being so weird between us.

I force a smile and take the empty bottle from him. "Good luck."

He nods and disappears behind the curtain. I close my eyes and lean my head up against the wall. I prepare myself to wait.

* * *

><p>It's dark outside when we finally hear it. The beautiful wails of my new niece or nephew as they take their first breath in this new world. All the fear melts away, and it's replaced by an entirely new emotion. I want to go in there. I want to know that everything's all right with the baby and Maggie. I want to see him or her. I want to fix everything that's so messed up between Maggie and I.<p>

I pace back and forth in front of the door, waiting for Dr. S to make his exit so I can pepper him with questions. Lemon is trying to calm me down, but I can't get my head straight. I can't pay attention to anything she's saying.

When I finally hear someone step out, I spin around, mouth already open, ready to attack. Then I see that it's Glenn, and I'm completely overcome with emotion. His eyes well up with happy tears, siphoning my own, as he gestures for me to follow him inside.

I freeze for a fraction of a second, but Lemon is right there behind me, nudging my shoulder and urging me on. "I'll be right here," she assures, and I shoot her a grateful smile before stumbling into the room.

I see Dr. S first. He's in the corner of the room, piling supplies on a surgical tray, with his back to me. Maggie is sitting up in bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows. And the baby. I finally see the baby. Wrapped up in a little pink blanket.

"Is it—" My voice shakes, and I just don't care. "Is it a girl?"

Maggie looks up and nods, a stray tear running down her cheek. "We named her Hope. Isn't that beautiful?"

"_Hope_," I say her name for the first time ever, and my voice cracks. I cross the room in three big steps and sit down on the bed next to them. Glenn is on the other side, one arm wrapped around Maggie's shoulders and the other resting on her blanketed thigh. We all stare down at her. This new perfect little human. A beacon of light in what's become a very dark world.

She has hair. Matted black hair. And almond shaped eyes. She looks like Glenn. My vision blurs with tears that I don't even bother wiping away. When her lashes flutter up, and I see her clear green eyes everything drops from under me, a swell of emotion tearing through every cell in my body and erupting in a choked sob I can't keep contained. "She's perfect. She's so perfect."

"Do you want to hold her?" Maggie asks, her eyes gentle.

I nod fiercely, dragging the backs of my hands over my cheeks and wiping away what tears I can. "I would love to."

She hands Hope over slowly, her tiny body burritoed in the soft blanket. I cradle her in my arms and try to keep them from shaking. She stares up at me, looking lost and innocent in this new world. I lean in and press her a kiss to the smooth skin at her temple. She smells beautiful and perfect in that way that only babies do. I smile and glance up at Maggie. She has tears in her eyes.

"I wish Daddy could have been here," she whispers.

I close my eyes for a moment. "He is, Mags. He is."

After a minute, I place Hope into her arms. Then I lean back and take in the sight of the three of them. Maggie looks up at Glenn, who's busy staring down at his daughter in adoration. I've never seen something so perfect. The three of them. Tucked in so close that it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. My throat gets tight with the threat of new tears. This is what life is about. They're a _family_.

It hurts. Looking at them hurts. Knowing that they have each other and this new baby, hurts. They love each other. They would die for each other. I can see it in their eyes and all over their faces. It's beautiful, but it's a hard reminder of things I'll never get to have. Watching them now, I feel more alone than I ever have. Even when I was out in the cold without shelter, walking for days without stopping. It's here, when I'm finally with the people I fought so hard to make it back to, that I feel utterly, painfully alone.

Panic wells within me, and something fierce and terrible claws at my insides, demanding release, demanding acknowledgment, demanding to be felt. I'll never get to have this. I'm alone.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Daryl<em>**

When we finally pull through the gates and the truck crawls toward the manor, I'm agitated and excited. It's been ten days. Too fucking long. I was on edge the entire trip, and the groups shit picking didn't help none. Now they're mostly ignoring me, because I turned into a real asshole around day three. We didn't have time to dick around though. I had to get back here. Had to get back to her.

Mark pulls right up to the entrance. I grab my bow and hop out. One of the guys says something to me, but I'm already walking through the door without so much as a 'so long' or 'fuck you' to anyone. It's dark out. We can worry about unloading and sorting shit tomorrow. Right now, I have somewhere I need to be.

I climb the steps three at a time in a rush to get upstairs. I want her to be in my bed, waiting. I want her there all the time. I missed the hell outta her while I was gone. I feel pussy whipped and turned inside out, but I just don't fucking care. She's all I could think about. I missed her. That matters. I'm done hiding. Bring on the emotions and the feelings and all that other shit that terrifies me. I don't care anymore. I want it all.

I'm so preoccupied with getting upstairs and grabbing a quick shower before I head to her room that I don't even notice there's anything in the hall until I kick it. Sounds like glass.

I reach inside my doorframe and flip on my light as I lay down my bow. I see that it's an empty bottle of wine. The neck of the bottle is resting against a small brown boot. My gaze lifts from the boots to bare legs, slightly golden from being out in the sun, up to the tiny pair of denim shorts with a rip below one pocket, over a loose white tank top, finally landing on Beth.

Her hair's in a sloppy braid that's mostly fallen out, wild strands of hair frame her face. She's at the end of the hallway, slouched over in the corner. Her small hand is wrapped around a second bottle of wine. That one looks empty too.

I bend down and gently take it from her. Her hand drops to her lap, and she doesn't stir. I mutter under my breath when I smell the alcohol on her. "Jesus, girl. Tryin' to kill yourself?"

She doesn't answer, because she's passed the fuck out. What the hell could've happened that has her drinking like this? Yeah, her and Lemon have been sneaking bottles of wine like bandits, but this is different. I've seen rock bottom a few times and it looks like she's headed there. If she ain't already hit it.

I reach one arm around her shoulders and tuck the other under her legs, lifting her. She's limp in my arms, and it's sort of freaking me the fuck out. I stride through her doorway and into the bathroom. The room is pitch black, so I slowly lower her to the floor, her back resting against the wall next to the toilet, then turn around and flip on the light.

The flood of light makes her groan. "No," she mumbles. "Off. Turn it off."

Ignoring her protests, I reach for a nearby washcloth and wet it with cold water. Then I sit on the ground in front of her and press it to her forehead.

She stirs. Mumbles something incoherent. Finally opens her eyes. Closes them again. Opens them again. Blinks a few times like she's not seeing straight. Tells me she's gonna throw up.

I manage to gather up her hair as she lunges for the toilet and loses the contents of her stomach. Even when it's empty, she dry heaves, over and over again. I alternate between pressing the cold rag to her neck and rubbing her back. I find myself wondering what the hell triggered all of this. And why is she alone? I wanna drag Lemon out of bed and demand answers, but I've got a feeling Beth did this all on her own.

"What the fuck happened to you, Greene?" My voice is soft. I don't expect her to answer me. And she doesn't. She just sits up and runs her hands over her face, teetering back and forth like she's off balance. I let go of her hair and put both hands on her back to keep her steady. She looks down at her arms then swings her head around slowly. She looks at me for a long time and blinks. Like she's finally realizing I'm there.

"You're back," she mumbles, and I can barely understand her. "Or I'm dreaming? Am I dreaming or this is real? I think I'm dreaming."

"Ain't dreamin'," I answer. "I'm here."

She looks sad. Fuck. "I missed you."

I want to tell her I missed her too, but the words get stuck in my throat. Not that it matters. She won't remember shit in the morning. "I need to lay down." She slumps over and presses her cheek to the tile. "Here. On the floor. Yeah, this is good. It's nice here."

I scoot back and rearrange her, maneuvering her until she's on her back with her head on my thigh and her legs stretched out. Her eyes are closed and she's breathing softly. I figure she's already out. I lean my head against the wall by the door and close my eyes.

"Maggie had her baby," she mumbles after a while. "'S a little girl."

I bow my head to look down at her. Her eyes are still closed, but her brows are knitted together like she's analyzing some complex problem. I brush a strand of hair away from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. "Is that what's got you tryin' to out-drink the frat house?"

"Yeah." She sighs. "Kind of."

"Kind of?"

Her lashes flutter up, and she looks at me. Her eyes are focused, and she looks like herself for the first time tonight. She completely ignores my question. "Will you make me eggs?"

I frown. "Eggs?"

"Yeah." She sits up, and the sudden movement must make her head spin, because she presses her hands out like she's looking for something to hold onto. "Will you make them for me?"

"Right now?"

She stands up, and she's a little wobbly until I'm on my feet in front her, steadying her with my hands. "Yeah, right now," she says. "We'll be quiet."

Probably wouldn't hurt to get something in her stomach. She might throw it up again, but it's worth a shot. I take her hand and lead her down the hall to the staircase. It takes longer than it should to navigate the stairs, but we have to keep stopping so she can rest. She's breathing like we're running a damn marathon.

I can't stop my snicker. "You're fucking tanked."

She blows a piece of hair out of her eyes and glares at me. "No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. Can't even walk straight."

She stomps her foot. "I can too."

"Can not." Damn she's cute when she's annoyed.

She crosses her arms over her chest like she's isn't going to move from that spot, but when I take her by the elbow and steer her toward the kitchen she doesn't put up a fight.

We run into Rick as we're passing the dining room. He's got a rifle over his shoulder, and it looks like he's just coming in from one of the guard towers. I nod to him, not intending to stop, but Beth pulls her arm away from me and plants her feet, waiting for him like she's ready to have a nice chat about the weather.

He nods his head as he gets to us. "Evening."

Beth beams at him. "Daryl's making me eggs!"

Rick's brows shoot up, and his eyes flick to mine, looking amused. "Oh, yeah? Didn't know you could cook."

"I can't," I grumble.

Beth turns to me with a wicked grin. "He's gonna make me eggs, and then he's gonna make me c—" I slap my hand over her mouth, muffling the rest of her sentence, which I'm 99% sure, judging by the look on her face before she started, would have been wildly inappropriate. And judging by the look on Rick's face, he knows exactly where she was going with it. I'm sure I'll catch shit for this tomorrow.

"Alright," I say roughly, steering her toward the swinging kitchen doors. "This one had too much to drink. Gotta get some food in her stomach."

"Y'all have a good night," Rick calls after us. "Glad you're back, Daryl."

I wave over my shoulder and pray he can't see the flush on the back of my neck. I want to tell Beth to get her shit together, but she's blinks her big, Bambi eyes at me once and all is forgotten. Damn eyes are like a lethal weapon.

Once we're inside the kitchen, I flip on a light and start searching the cabinets for a skillet. "What kind of eggs do you want?" I ask when I finally find a cast iron. I ain't ever made anyone eggs. Damn sure not no woman. Is this courting? Doing shit like this? My sappy ass is gonna be bringing in bouquets of wild flowers like Glenn before I even realize what's happening to me. And at that point, I'll be too far gone to care.

"Fried," she answers. And I want to tell her I have no fucking clue how to make fried eggs, but fuck. If that's what she wants, I'll damn sure try.

She's cradling four eggs in one arm and a plastic bottle of oil in the other when I turn around. I put the pan on the stove and take the eggs from her before she can drop them. She sets the vegetable oil beside the stove before hopping up to sit on the counter. I try to ignore the way it makes her shorts ride up. Her being so close to the griddle makes me nervous, but it doesn't look like she's about to tip over. Yet.

I nudge my chin at the eggs as I turn on the stove. "Four, huh? You bulking up or something?"

She leans back against the wall, hands in her lap, smile a mile and a half wide as she swings her legs. "Maybe. You don't know my life, Dixon."

I let my lips curl into a return smile. "That right?"

She nods her head and bites her bottom lip. Am I imaging the way her pupils get huge and dark? Even if that's just my imagination running wild, there's nothing imaginative about the way she rakes her eyes up and down my body like she wants to strip off my clothes.

Fuck.

Eggs. I need to focus. I'm making her eggs.

I clear my throat and drop some oil into the pan. Give it a minute to heat up. Then I crack each of the shells open as gently as I can manage. She watches me. If I've fucked up so far she doesn't let on. How hard could it be anyway? I think I just wait and flip them. Ain't rocket science.

I watch her from the corner of my eye as she slips from the counter and saunters over to me. I go completely still as she snakes one arm around me and reaches out to lower the heat slightly. Her hand grazes my hip when she pulls it away, and I have to remind myself to focus again.

She makes her way to the pantry, pulls out a loaf of bread, and pops four pieces into some industrial ass toaster I could probably seriously fuck up. I run the spatula around the edge of the skillet, loosening the eggs, like I'm actually doing something. I find some pepper and sprinkle it into the pan.

When I look back over at Beth, she's leaned up against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, grinning at me. I scowl at her. "What?"

She shakes her head and laughs a little. "Nothing. Just can't believe you're behind a stove right now."

"Ain't gonna be laughin' when you have to eat these." I point to the pan with the spatula. "Probably gonna taste like shit."

She pads over to assess the situation. "No way. They look good. Just flip them, and they'll be perfect."

She disappears into the huge walk in cooler, and I decide to just go for it. The first one breaks. And so does the second. And I'm annoyed that she made it sound so easy. She giggles when she passes by with a tub of butter. Carol would kill us if she had any idea we were in here using it. That shit is hard to make.

I manage to flip the final two without much damage, and Beth butters the toast. She fishes two plates out one of the cabinets, paces over to the stove, takes the spatula from me, bumps me out of the way with her hip, and deposits two eggs on each plate, right on top of the toast.

She holds one of the plates out to me, and I take it from her, hoping she doesn't notice how damn distracted I am by her. We sit at the tiny table that's pushed off to one side of the kitchen.

She takes a bite and moans, and it's like the noise goes straight to my dick, because I'm already half-hard in my jeans. Inappropriate, I self-lecture. Not everything is about sex.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. She looks full and content. There's color back in her cheeks, and I think we're in the clear. She's sobering up. "So, you got your eggs," I point out, aiming to steer the conversation where I want it to go. "You gonna tell me what's turnin' you into the town drunk now?"

She looks up at me, chewing her food slowly. Her eyes are so damn big and blue. I try not to get sucked in, but there's no safe place on her to focus. What else can I look at? The delicate shoulders I wanna kiss? The sexy curve of muscle on her tiny arms? Her hands, smooth as hell but still calloused from hard work? Every thing about her drives my hormones into a fucking frenzy.

She drops her eyes and shrugs. "I dunno."

"Don't do that."

Her eyes shoot back to mine, and there's a sharp edge there, telling me to back off, which I don't plan on doing. "It nothing, Daryl."

"Ain't ever nothin'," I counter.

"It was just weird," she says, cutting her eggs with more force than strictly necessary. "Seeing Maggie and Glenn with the baby. I mean, it's great, don't get me wrong. It's just . . . I don't know. It's hard to explain."

I take a bite, chew, and swallow before replying. "Try."

"I just feel like there's not room for me in their life anymore. Like they have this perfect little family now, you know? Maggie has Glenn and Hope and they're her priorities now. I just feel like—I don't know. This is so stupid. I guess seeing them with the baby made a lot of stuff click. Maggie's doing her own thing and that's great, but I feel like I got left behind. I feel like there's no one left for me. Like I don't have a family anymore."

I want to tell her she's wrong about Maggie and Glenn, but she isn't. That's just what happens when people grow up and fall in love and all that shit. You grow apart. And sometimes other people take your place. It's not fair, but that's the way it is. I knew that the second I saw all those stupid fucking signs for Glenn on the way to Terminus. She couldn't include Beth on a single one? Damn. How can you forget someone you're supposed to love that fast? Beth is wrong about one thing though.

"You ain't alone," I tell her. "You got me and Lemon. I know it ain't conventional, but we ain't leavin' you behind."

Her eyes snap up to mine, and there's some unreadable emotion there. Whatever it is, it's intense. I know I just called her family, but that's what she is. Just as much as Rick or any of these other assholes here. Even more. She's gotta know that.

She finally smiles and there's a fondness there that has me aching to touch her. "You might have to keep reminding me."

I level her gaze. "I can do that." She's gonna make this place her home, because I ain't ever letting go of her again. I don't care what it takes. If it came down to it, I'd leave with her.

We eat the rest of our meal in silence. Once we're through, Beth washes the dishes in the sink while I dry and put them away. The kitchen looks untouched when we leave. I tell her about the trip to the bay on the way back upstairs. She asks what kind of toothpaste it was with a little grin on her face.

"Colgate." I chuckle. "Smells like cinnamon."

We're standing outside of our doors. She leans up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my cheek. Then she turns like she's gonna go to her room. I grab her by the wrist and tug her back to me. Then I kiss her properly. Slowly. I press her mouth open with my lips and let my tongue delve in so I can taste her. I kiss her until my lips are swollen and tingling. Only then do I pull away to bury my face in her neck and drag my mouth over the skin there. She smells so damn good.

I back her into my room, and we fall to the bed in a tangle of arms and limbs. I kiss her until we can't keep our eyes open. In fact, I think we fall asleep that way. I dream about her. I'm gonna pick her some fucking flowers tomorrow.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hey guys! I hope this chapter is okay! I had a few days where I just couldn't get anything to out, and I hate to force it because then it feels so choppy and weird. I want to say a big thank you to everyone that's reviewing. I read all of them! There are some from last week that I still plan on replying to, but I wanted to get this finished and posted as soon as possible. I just want to let y'all know I do read <span>all<span> of them and they make me so happy and giddy and they motivate me to get my ass in gear and get chapters done. I hope to have another chapter ready by Wednesday! I seriously need to do some plotting, because I'm still winging it at this point. But I don't plan on ending this story any time soon. We aren't there yet! It's gonna be a long road. (: If you want to see this story go a certain direction or have prompts for one shots or other multi-chapter stories please share with me! I wanna hear from you guys and I wanna write what you wanna read!**


	12. Chapter 12

**_Beth_**

Light pours out of the bathroom as my eyelids peel open, feeling gritty and sore as pain radiates through my head. Memories of the night before come flooding back, and I remember why it feels like I've been hit by a truck: I literally drank myself into oblivion, and the only thing that's hammered now is the inside of my skull.

My eyes briefly close as an unwelcome feeling snakes deep into my gut and claws its way through me, leaving me in shreds. I try to pretend like it's not there, but it's chewing me up. I push it away, because that's just what I do now. I bottle anything that makes me uncomfortable up and shove it so far down me that I can pretend it's not there and I'm some semblance of okay. That's the only thing I can do, because I'm afraid to look too closely at myself. I already know my insides are ugly and twisted, so why bother trying to figure out how far the damage spreads?

Unsticking my tongue from the roof of my mouth, I ignore the bitter taste flooding it, because it has nothing to do with morning breath or the three bottles of red I drank last night and everything to do with how hard I'm trying to run away from my feelings. I groan and bury my face in the pillow. I'm not ready to face the day. I'm not ready to face _myself_.

When I hear footsteps, I open my eyes. Daryl's coming out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth and glass of water in hand. He hands me the water and points to two white pills on the bedside table before disappearing back into the bathroom.

I take the pills and down half of the water. The tiny bit of movement has my head spinning. Is it possible I'm still drunk? Surely not. The bed feels like it's spinning beneath me, though. I put my foot on the ground to steady myself, but that's spinning too. I suddenly have a thought. What if _I'm_ the one that's spinning? I place my hand on the end table next to the bed experimentally, and it starts to spin. Jesus. I drag my leg back onto the bed and take deep breaths. I need to get my act together. What was I thinking? Falling off the wagon like that. Daddy would be so disappointed if he knew what I were turning into. Ugh.

And at least the night didn't completely suck. Daryl's back. And he so sweet. He made me breakfast in the middle of the night. It's almost enough to make me forget the knotted up feeling deep in my stomach.

When Daryl comes back into the room, my eyes are less bleary and I get a good look at him. His damp hair is curled at the edges, so I know he just got out of the shower. He's wearing a sleeveless flannel and black jeans, ripped at the knee. I frown, because his boots are already on. It's still dark out. I'm usually the one that sneaks out before dawn.

I sit up a little, ignoring the pounding and spinning in my head, as I reach for the glass of water. "Why are you up so early?" My voice cracks with the first words of the day.

He sits on the side of the bed and a crooked smile touches his mouth as he looks at me. "Got shit to do."

I take a sip of the water and trace my finger around the rim, wondering how to broach the subject of last night. Before I can get anywhere, he leans in and his thumb grazes my jaw. He smells woodsy and fresh. I want to bottle the scent up and give it to myself for Christmas.

"Go back to sleep." His voice is soft as his rough fingers slip under my chin and gently tip my head back, forcing me to look at him. "The Earth ain't gonna come of its axis just 'cause you're takin' a day off. You need the rest."

Despite the smile toying with my lips, I manage to roll my eyes. "Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?" Which, in fairness, I probably do.

"Nah." He wraps a stand of my hair around his index finger and toys with the end. "You look perfect."

Caught off-guard, I blink and look down, feeling the all too familiar heat of a blush coloring my cheeks. Daryl chuckles and stands up. "I'll draw the curtains," he says. "Sleep in. I'll check on you later."

Setting the glass aside, I nod my head. My eyelids _do_ feel heavy. A little extra rest certainly won't kill me. I close my eyes and lay back down. I feel the faint brush of his lips against my forehead before I drift back to sleep.

* * *

><p>When I wake for the second time, there's a small sliver of sunlight streaming in through a crack in the curtains. My head's still killing me, but I feel better. I haven't been able to sleep in like this since before the turn, and this bed is comfortable. It smells like Daryl; I'm not ready to get up. But before I can pull the covers over my head and fade back into sweet oblivion, my blurry eyes focus and I notice the silver tray beside the bed. I sit up, instantly awake. There's a plate, covered with a silver dome, to keep whatever's underneath warm. But more important than that is the bouquet of flowers beside it.<p>

Five sunflowers. Bound together by a thin twine of rope.

The grin on my face is so wide I'm surprised it hasn't split my cheeks. I press my palm to my chest just to make sure I'm still here.

Daryl Dixon picked flowers for me.

* * *

><p>Once I manage to get out of bed, I cut the stems of the flowers down and place them in the glass I was using for water. Then I dig into the lunch Daryl brought up. Soup and bread. Perfect for this monster of a hangover. After that I take a long shower and get dressed for the day, which I mostly slept away.<p>

I drop the tray off in the kitchen and make my way to Maggie's room. We've both made mistakes, but we're gonna have to work through them. I want to be part of Hope's life. I want to figure out where my place is here. I can't keep pushing everything away. I have to let some of it in. Everything will come crashing down on me at once if I don't.

I knock on her door frame lightly. I can hear her humming softly, so I know she isn't sleeping. I'm sure there won't be much of that going on for the next few weeks.

"Come in!"

I lean my crossbow up against the wall beside the door and enter. She's sitting up in bed, Hope cradled in her arms as she rocks her back and forth. Her entire face lights up when she sees me, and I automatically feel a twinge of guilt for being so standoffish with her. This is my sister. This is _Maggie_.

I stand at the end of the bed for a moment, feeling awkward, until she waves me over. As soon as I sit down in the chair beside the bed, she hands Hope over. There's no hesitation, and it feels natural and right. I look down at the little bundle of joy in my arms in complete awe. The one who might actually bridge the gap between her mother and I.

"I still can't believe you're a mom," I murmur, hooking my finger through Hope's tiny hand.

She laughs and rakes a hand through her hair. "You're telling me."

We sit in silence for a while, me rocking Hope while Maggie watches with tearful eyes, until she finally asks, "You remember when Momma used to make us help in the nursery at the church?"

I nod my head, feeling the corners of my mouth lift. "You hated it."

She gives me a wry grin. "I was no good with them. As soon as one of them started crying, I'd just hand 'em off to you. You were like Momma. You just had a way with them, you know? I was never like that. Hell, I hardly paid attention while we were there."

I laugh a little, because she's right. She'd spend the entire day talking about boys, scrunching up her nose when one of the babies spit up on her. And she damn sure wasn't changing any of the diapers. That's all they were to her then. Little poop machines.

She places her hand on my knee as her voice gets all soft on me. "When I found out I was pregnant, I was so scared, Beth. So scared. I just kept prayin' that something would bring you back to me, because you'd know what to do. And then like some kind of miracle, Daryl brought you here. I was so damn caught up with getting you back that I never even stopped to think . . . or apologize."

I open my mouth to say something, but she squeezes my knee, cutting me off. "Let me finish. After the prison, I made a lot of mistakes. Seeing that happen to Daddy just shut me down in an ugly way. I couldn't even think about you. I mean, you're my kid sister. You spent your whole life looking up to me, and I was supposed to keep you safe. Knowing that I didn't—that I let you down—tore me to pieces.

"I channeled everything I had into finding Glenn, and I know that wasn't fair. But I just—I couldn't think about you. I felt like a failure. I felt like I let Daddy down. So I pushed all of it away and buried it deep, and I _know_ it wasn't right. I know I messed up, and I would do anything to take it back.

"And then when I finally got you back, you'd changed. Honestly, it scared me. I didn't recognize you anymore, and I felt responsible. For letting you be out there on your own for so long. I should have been better to you when you got here, but I didn't know how. I guess I expected things to be the way they used to, and when they weren't, it made me panic."

She lets out a long, shaky breath. "So I'm saying sorry for everything. I know that doesn't make any of this okay, but I plan on making things right with you. I'm not gonna stop trying. You're our family, Beth. And I want you to be in my life. I hope you want me to be in yours too."

A single tear rolls down my cheek when she's done. I know I need to apologize too, but I'm so overcome with emotion I can't get anything out. I put my hand over hers and squeeze, hoping my eyes convey everything I'm feeling.

"I want you in my life, Maggie," is all I'm able to choke out. "I do."

We have a chance. We can fix this.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Daryl<em>**

It takes all damn day to unload, inventory, and stock the supplies we brought back. I stop by the kitchen and grab a few pieces of dried venison and a peach for dinner. I'm headed for the stairwell when the faint sound of a piano filters to my ears.

I follow the noise down the hall, past the dining room and the infirmary, to a sitting area with a fireplace, cocktail tables, and an old bar. No one ever hangs out around here. Sounds like someone is tonight, though.

I hear her before I see her—Beth. She's singing softly, but I can't make out the words until I round the corner. She's sitting at the piano, and my lips stretch into a grin when I hear what she's singing. Didn't think I'd ever hear Beth Greene covering some old rap song by Blackstreet, but here we are. Her version is soft and slow. Sweet. Some of the cocktail tables are pushed out of the way, and Lemon and Adam are dancing—if you could call it that. They're leaned up against each other, forehead-to-forehead, like they're the only thing keeping each other up. Lemon has Adam's face between her hands.

"Hey, hey," she slurs, blinking hard like she's trying to get his attention. "I _love_ you. You know that, righ'?"

He gets this sappy, shit-eating grin on his face and looks like he's dangerously close to melting in a puddle at her feet. "I love you _more_. Like way more."

Fuck. What is this? A damn romance novel? There's a half-empty bottle of vodka nearby, so I know they're drunk off their asses. What's with everyone trying to drink themselves into liver failure lately?

Ignoring the sick display of puppy love, I wait until Beth finishes the song and filters into the next to cross the room and sit on the piano bench beside her, facing out toward Lemon and Adam, who are stumbling from side to side and giggling like teenagers now.

Her fingers still on the keys as she glances over at me. She smiles, and I swear it reaches into my body and makes me stomach flip flop. Her lips are this perfect pink color and shaped like a little bow. Jesus. One glance at her mouth and every dirty scenario I've ever played out in my head comes tumbling back through.

A dozen different emotions take residence in my body. One second, I wanna push Beth up against a wall and fuck her senseless, and the next I wanna construct a ten-foot wall to protect her from the very vivid fantasies looping through my brain.

Her eyes are clear and blue, so I know she hasn't been enjoying that bottle of Belvedere. I nudge my chin toward Lemon and Adam. "You babysittin'?"

"Mhm." She nods her head and takes her hands off the keys. "Something like that."

I press one of the keys down, and it makes a low sound. "Why don't you play some more?"

"Because three's a crowd, Mr. Dixon." Her voice is light, playful. "And this is a private show."

"That never stopped you before," I point out.

"Yeah, well, it's different now."

I'm trying to decide if it's a subtle dig at me for being suck a dick that night at the shine shack when she starts playing again. This song is a bit faster. And sweeter. I get a little lost in the way the notes come out of her mouth sounding so saccharine and clean and the way her fingers dance over the keys. She watches me from the corner of her eye with a little smirk as she sings the next verse, and it's doing crazy things to my heart.

_Nobody likes us at this party_

_Nobody likes us on this couch_

_We can't stop eating the candy_

_We can't stop making out_

_The girl in the corner knows the story about the first night we met_

_She keeps asking 'Why aren't you together yet?'_

_And I've got my hands in your heart_

_You've got your hands in my hair_

_I don't know these people, let them stare_

_And I've got you wrapped around my finger_

_You've got me wrapped up in your chest_

_We keep whispering 'Why aren't we together yet?'_

I have to get her upstairs. Right now. The urge to pound on my chest like a caveman and drag her straight to my bed is almost overwhelming. She's just so damn sweet. I need to taste her. I'm not a complete animal though, so I let her finish the song. Then I catch one of her hands in mine and tilt my head toward the exit. "Wanna get outta here?"

Her eyes flick to Lemon, looking uncertain about leaving them. I run my thumb over her knuckles. "Those two ain't gonna mind. Trust me." They didn't even notice when I came in. Probably can't see straight. It won't be long before they stumble over to the first soft surface they can find and pass the fuck out. Plus Duke is nearby. That smart ass dog can keep them out of trouble better than most people around here.

She nods, and I pull her up, barely giving her enough time to get her fingers around the strap of her crossbow before I'm pulling her toward the stairwell. We're both out of breath by the time we hit the fourth floor, and it makes her laugh, but I can't even be ashamed about my hurried pace. I want to get her alone. I _need_ to get her alone.

Once we're inside my room, I flip on the bathroom light, and it illuminates the entryway. I set my bow down, and she does the same with hers. I'm gonna ask her to hunt with me tomorrow. I wanna know how good she's gotten with it. But right now, I've got other shit planned.

She's got the same look on her face that I've got to be wearing on mine. It starts with "want" and ends with "you," but there's a whole lot of mental undressing in the middle. We stare at each other, and in the seconds that pass, there's an unspoken conversation about need and desire, and her eyes darken. I slowly close the distance, my lips brushing against hers as my fingers slip through her belt loops and tug her close.

Her tongue is tentative and flirty, dipping and stroking against mine in a way that has my heart pounding like a drum. All I can smell is the scent of her shampoo, her skin, and the sweetness of apples on her breath.

Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, and she pushes me backward, farther into the room. When the backs of my knees bump into the bed, I wrap my arms around her waist and fall back. She giggles as we land on the mattress with a "_omph_." I love that sound. I wanna catalog it. Fucking put it on repeat to drown out all the bad in this new world. She makes all of that go away, and if that's not magic, I don't know what is. I don't care if that makes me a pussy. I mean it.

I scoot across the bed until my back is against the headboard and drag her across my lap so she's straddling me. When she wiggles in my lap, my dick roars to life. Her hands cup my face as her tongue dances with mine, my fingers running up the sides of her bare legs. I'm amazed at how soft and smooth her skin is. I want to lick and kiss every inch of her, until I've memorized her taste. I slow the pace, nibbling on her lip and jaw before I drop down to her neck. I stop and grip her to me, trying not to ravage her.

"Daryl," she pants.

That's all it takes. Her voice in my ear, and I'm back in a frenzy. My mouth opens and I bite down on the smooth skin of her neck before placing a soothing kiss over the spot. Her breath catches in her throat, and she rocks against me so softly, I don't even know if she realizes she's doing it. The feel of her skin beneath my hands is so fucking intense, I don't even know how to explain it. It's like she's infected me. Like she's running through my veins with my blood. And I don't want to get her out. Ever. I like it.

I close my eyes and pause, resolving to not rush this. I pull away and she stills.

That sexy pink mouth is hanging half open, lips shiny because she just licked them. "Touch me." She presses a kiss to my jaw. "I want you to touch me."

So far, I've mostly kept my hands in safe places—her back, her hips, her shoulders—but spurred by her words, my hands grip her perfect ass, grinding her against my erection until we both moan.

When she arches up, I run my hands down the the backs of her thighs and then back up, letting my fingertips skirt beneath the hem of her shorts. I feel the soft fabric of her panties and trace along the edge of them.

"Do you know what you do to me?" My voice comes out rusty. She presses a kiss my corner of my mouth in response, her fingers kneading my shoulders.

My head dips to the hollow of her neck as I strain against my jeans. I'm so hard you could take my pulse with my cock. I'm fucking dizzy, because a certain appendage is siphoning off all my blood.

_I will not have sex with her tonight. I will not take it that far. She's not the kind of girl I fuck like that. This is Beth._

The words are still knocking around in my head when she tilts her hips and presses against my length again. The soft skin covering her collarbone absorbs the low, tortured groan that leaves me.

"Fuck, Beth."

She runs her hands from my shoulders to my biceps, tilting her fingers just enough to scratch lightly, leaving a trail of fire. I reach down and pull her shirt off, and the sight of her lacy bra has me zeroing in on her lush, perky breasts.

I lock eyes with her first, silently asking permission. When she nods, I snake one arm around her back and unlatch the snap. The second it's off, her hands pull my head down until my mouth is wrapped around her skin. My tongue flicks over one of her nipples, making her whimper. I tease her other with my fingers before switching to give them equal attention.

When I'm sure I'm about to lose my mind, I wrap my arm around her waist and roll her beneath my body. She claws at my shirt, and I lean up long enough to tug it over my head. On her back, she's even smaller. Her hair's spread out on the pillow, surrounding her head, like a halo. How fitting.

She lifts her hips and grinds them against mine. She's getting impatient, and I love it. I pin her wrists above her head as I make a slow descent down her body. Everything about this woman is perfect. Her smooth skin. Her beautiful breasts. Her tight, flat stomach. I kiss my way down her neck and across her clavicle, placing little nips and licks as I go. Her head drops to the side as she lets out a strangled moan. I release her hands, and they thread through my hair.

I drag my lips down her body, watching as the muscles tighten and her skin breaks into goose bumps wherever my lips touch down. When I reach her hips, I look up at her. Her eyes are glazed and dilated, wanting.

I kiss across her abdomen, then retrace my trail. I can't believe she's real. And she's here. And she's mine. I lean back long enough to undo her belt and drag her shorts off. Her panties are light pink, and they're making my vision blur. _Fuck._ My dick twitches in my jeans.

Her hands tug at my hair as my fingertips skirt up the insides of her thighs. The more she moans the closer my lips and hands come together, until my mouth is just north of her clit and my fingers are brushing along the final scrap of fabric separating us.

She bucks her hips against me. "Daryl, please."

Mmm, I like it when she begs. I smile and press a kiss to the sensitive spot just inside her thigh. "Tell me what you need, Beth. I'll give you whatever you want."

"You," she breathes. "I need you."

_I need you_.

The words bounce around my brain like a pinball, lighting up every sex-starved cell in my body. I growl and bite into the soft fabric of her panties. She lifts her hips, and I drag them down without breaking her gaze. I slip them off her heels and slide my way back up her body, stopping to caress the soft skin behind her knee. It makes her shiver.

"I have to taste you," I tell her. Then I dip my head and stroke my tongue over her soft, wet folds. She's salty and sweet, and the sensation of having my mouth on her has me damn close to forgetting my name. Her fingers dig into my shoulders with every pass of my tongue as I get closer and closer to her clit until finally I settle over the sensitive bundle of nerves. My dick is pressing against my jeans so hard it hurts, but I don't care. This isn't about me. This is about her.

Look at me being all selfless and shit.

She grips my biceps and rocks her hips as a breathy moan tumbles out of her mouth, making my eyes screw shut so tight that I see stars. I slip one finger inside her and stoke in time with the swirling motions of my tongue. God those moans. Every single sound she makes feels like a bolt of lightning through my body. She's so damn responsive. I could make her feel so many fucking things.

When I slip a second finger in, her head thrashes against the pillow and her fingers scratch at the sheets, her muscles coiling tighter and tighter. It's not long before she's trembling and bucking against my mouth.

She comes apart with a deep shudder and a loud cry. I milk her orgasm for a few more seconds, wringing every last "oh, God" and "Daryl" from her writhing body. When she finally lets out a ragged sigh, I move up her body and kiss her deeply.

I pull away and there's a smile playing over her lips. She touches them like they're tingling. "You taste like you," she mumbles. "Mixed with . . . me."

I laugh and roll off of her, propping myself up with my elbow as I press a kiss to her shoulder, my stubble scratching at the delicate skin. She sits up and presses my chest down until I'm laying back.

"I'd never had a . . ._ you know_ . . . until that, um, morning with you. That was my first ever." Pink suffuses her cheeks, and her blue eyes stare back at me, wild and a little unsure.

I cock one of my brows. I know exactly what she's trying to say, but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna try my damnedest to coax it out of her. "Your first ever what?"

She drops her eyes to the comforter and starts tracing circles with her index finger. "You know what I mean, Daryl."

"I wanna hear you say it." I brush my finger over her knuckles to put a stop to her nervous circles. "Ain't a dirty word, Greene."

"_An orgasm_," she says it in a hushed whisper. Like it absolutely is a dirty word.

I have to press my lips together to stop my smirk. She's still blushing, and I can't help myself. I want to make her squirm. "Mmm, do you like it when I make you come?" I keep my eyes locked on hers while I toy with the ends of her hair, loving the way her blush crawls all the way down her neck and over her collarbones.

She rolls her eyes and lifts her hand to shove me, but I catch it in my own and pull her toward me. Until our lips are inches apart. "Say it, Greene. Tell me you like it."

"I like it when you make me come," she breathes as her gaze drops to my lips. "A lot."

I slide my hand behind her jaw and direct her mouth down to mine. Her lips mold to mine as I absorb her gasp. When our tongues touch, she shivers. I kiss her softly, slowly at first, just content to explore her mouth with light presses of our lips and gentle sweeps of our tangled tongues. But then our breathing speeds, and slow and soft turns into a desperate, frenzied mix of lips and limbs.

She drags her mouth away from mine with a pant. Then her lips blaze a trail of feather-light kisses along my jaw as her fingertips skim down my chest, over my abdomen, stopping just above my waistband. It feels like my heart's declared war on my chest with the way it's slamming into my ribcage right now.

When she reaches for my belt, I put my hand over hers, stopping her. "Beth."

Her eyes flick up to mine and she frowns. "You don't want me to?"

"It's not that." I speak slowly, careful not to offend her. "Just don't want you to feel like you have to return the favor. That was about you and nothin' else."

"But I want to take care of you," she says softly. "Teach me . . . Please?"

I swallow hard, unable to answer. She draws one of her legs over my hips and leans down to kiss me, slow and deliberate, persuading me until I'm fucking putty in her hands. When she kisses down my neck, every last rational thought in my brain vanishes. Just—_poof_. Gone.

She continues to make a path to my hips, leaving hot patches of wet skin in her wake as her fingertips trace the ridges between the muscles of my abdomen. She looks at me from beneath mile-long lashes as she undoes my belt then flicks the button of my jeans open. My head feels heavy as she pulls my zipper down, and I fight to keep my vision focused. If she keeps looking at me like that, I might come in my jeans.

She tugs on my pants until they're past my hips, and I kick them the rest of the way off. I want to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming when she runs the tip of her tongue along the skin just above the waistband of my boxers. I realize I'm holding my breath and remind myself to breathe, but my inhale is cut short when she pulls the band of my boxers down and wraps her hand around my dick.

I exhale through my teeth, short and loud, and she looks up at me. "Will you show me how?"

This woman is gonna fucking kill me. My arms are shaking, but I manage to take her hand and guide her. Not that she needs any help. The moment her soft hand strokes down my dick and back up, my vision starts to blur. It takes everything I can to keep my eyes open, but she's holding my gaze, and it's so damn sexy I can't look away.

When she seems comfortable, I let my hand fall away, gripping the sheets like they're the only thing keeping me on the ground. The moment my head drops back against the pillow, her tongue runs up the length of me. My vision goes dark and only comes back in silver pinpricks of bursting light.

"Beth, wait. You don't—"

She silences me by wrapping her mouth around my dick. All the air in my lungs up and evaporates.

On one hand, I want to slow her down and tell her she doesn't have to do this. Or at the very least, get some sort of confirmation that she _does_ want to do this. But at the same time, my literal hand is threading into her hair, urging her not to stop. I sit up half way and open my mouth to say God knows what, but she reaches up and pushes me back down, her subtle way of saying sit still and shut up.

That's exactly what I do when she wraps one hand around my base and begins pumping it up and down in rhythm with her mouth, all the while sucking me harder and faster. There's nothing but fireworks every time I close my eyes, taking up more and more of my vision as I feel the warm, familiar tingle of an orgasm working it's way down my spine.

The muscles in my legs get tense first, my abs are next, and it crawls all the way to my shoulders, my entire core getting tighter and tighter until the only sound I can hear is the pumping of blood in my ears. And I know this is it—the point of no return. Where there's no stopping the animalistic need barreling through me.

"Beth." The word is nothing but a ragged pant as I try to scoot from beneath her. "I'm there, baby."

She digs her hands into my hips and presses her mouth down farther, taking me in even deeper as the last shred of controlled man flies out the window and everything spirals out of control. I come in her mouth, tingly warmth spreading through my entire body.

_Holy. Fucking. Shit._

She stays put until I stop pulsing. I'm still caught up in the waves of sunshiny bliss coursing through my body when she runs her tongue up the length of me and kisses the tip of my dick. When she folds my boxers back up, I take a few more ragged breaths and open my eyes.

She's sitting back on her heels. Her eyes look apprehensive. "Was I . . . okay? I mean, did I do it right?"

"You're joking, right?" I grab her hand and tug her toward me until she's tucked beneath my chin. "You were unbelievable." I lean back and tilt her chin up, so I can press a kiss to her lips.

I'm overwhelmed. The way a kid is the first time he realizes that space is somehow infinite and expanding. Yeah, scared shitless. This woman. She could ruin me. She could splinter me until I'm in so pieces there's nothing left to fit together. I'm not about to pull away from her though. I'm in this. If anything's gonna destroy me, I want it to be her.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

I'm drifting off when Daryl's voice pulls me back from the edge. My lashes flutter up, and I blink a few times, willing them to stay open so I can focus. "Hm?"

"Asked if you were ever gonna tell me how you got these scars," he says, tracing his finger over the sliver of raised skin on my forehead. He kisses the one beneath my eye.

"Oh." Stifling a sigh, because I don't want to talk about it, I trace a circle around the patch of hair on his chest. "You can't expect me to tell you about mine if you won't even let me touch yours without turning into a fire breathing dragon."

His chest vibrates beneath my cheek when he laughs softly. "You tell me about yours, and you can touch mine all you want."

"I got them at Grady Memorial," I finally say.

"How?"

"I tripped." I let out a laugh, like this is light-hearted, but it sounds forced even to me. "A few times."

"C'mon," he coaxes, his voice somehow soft and rough at the same time. Like someone put butter and gravel in a blender and out came his voice. "What really happened?"

I stare into space, remembering things I spent so long trying to forget. I don't think I could share these stories with anyone else so easily, but with Daryl it's different. He cares enough to ask, but he never pushes me. I know if I told him to leave it alone, he'd let it drop, no questions asked.

When I'm sure I can speak without my voice shaking, I answer him. "There was this cop there, Dawn. She was a real piece of work. The minute anyone or anything threatened her authority, she'd lash out, and I was an easy target. So she'd beat up on me. Talk down to me. She spent a lot of time making me feel worthless, and there were days when it worked." My jaw clenches as I silently will the tears welling up in my eyes to recede back into my tear ducts, even though I know that's not how biology works. Faucets only flow one way. "It's stupid, you know? That I let her get to me. But she did. In a big way. And for awhile, it really messed with me, but eventually, I put an end to it. Guess that's all that matters."

I see him in my peripheral vision, but I can't make out his expression. I'm willing to bet I won't like it, though. Pity is radiating off of him in waves. "How'd you end it?"

I glance up at him with a wry smile. "I stabbed her in the neck with a pair of scissors." When his eyes widen in shock, I rush to add, "Trust me, she deserved it."

His dark brows are drawn tight and his jaw's a solid stretch of muscle as he stares down at me with a look so intense, the air in my lungs dissipates. "Fuck. That's awful, Beth. I hate that shit like that happened to you. I fucking hate it, because I could've stopped—"

"Don't." I hold up a hand to stop him. "You couldn't have saved me even if you'd wanted to, and that's okay, because I'm stronger now. It made me better."

After that, he's quiet for awhile, lost in thought as his fingertips trail up and down my arm. I gather up all the courage I have and ask the question I know could very well turn him to stone. "I told you how I got mine. You gonna tell me about yours?"

He stills, and the hard set of his shoulders jostles me a bit as his muscles tense up. "Used to have someone that beat on me too." The words come out sounding like they've been trapped under his ribcage for too long, and it makes my chest ache.

I lean up on my elbow and stare down at him. I can tell he doesn't plan on saying anything else, and that's okay, because I feel like he just showed me a part of himself that not many people know exists. It connects us in some weird, twisted way. The fact that we've both suffered through some kind of abuse. We've both had someone break us down.

"You ain't broken, Greene," he says softly, almost like he's reading my mind. "Just a little bent. Ain't nothin' we can't fix."

Feeling overwhelmed with emotion, I press a kiss to his jaw and tuck my head under his chin. Maybe he's right. Here, with him, I don't feel broken. I feel like someone who's picking up the pieces and putting them back together. And that's a beautiful thing.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey guys! So I edited this whole thing then pressed save, but I guess I'd been logged out in the process, because it took me back to the log in screen and I lost aaall my edits. The second time I went through I was lazy, so there are probably some mistakes here. But I wanted to get this up before I call it an early night. I've got an appointment with my local orthopedic in the morning to touch base since I was out of town when I broke my leg. He's been my go-to guy since I broke my first bone at the tender age of four. I'm sure it'll be great fun explaining to him why my cast already smells like beer and tequila. He also happens to be my grandpa's partner in crime (like they go out to breakfast and the YMCA and hit on ladies together LMAO) so I'm sure my boozing ways will get back to my grandpa and then my mother and before I even know what's happening she'll have me signed up for AA meetings. And none of them will care that I've been living happily in the land of pain killers and far, far away from the bottle. You can't tell that sort of thing to a mother, because denying something means you have a major, huge problem even if it's the truth. Lol jesus. Wish me luck! As always thank you for the reviews! Man there are a handful of you that comment almost every single chapter and I just look forward to seeing what you have to say and it always makes me smile and I just love you guys! You seriously keep me going. You have no idea.<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**SoOoOo, this is more smut. Lol it's all I can write right now. Josh is out of town for work for two weeks and I just miss him and love him and can't function without him, so I've been sitting on the couch watching too much Netflix and eating unhealthy amounts of chocolate and popcorn. I do promise this story is working toward something! And there are some important points discussed in this chapter, so I didn't completely waste it. Hopefully soon I won't be so lovesick and I can get down to the nitty gritty. Probably another chapter or so and we'll start getting some conflict.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Daryl<em>**

The next morning, we wake before dawn, grab something from the kitchen, and head out the gates on foot. Steering Beth into the woods, we head south. The sun is crowning on the horizon, leaving everything dewy and golden.

"River's down that way." I point ahead. "Walkers don't make it past the water, so we shouldn't have much trouble."

She nods as we fall into step, side-by-side. She moves with finesse, every footstep quiet and calculated. It's a stark comparison to the girl I was stuck with after the prison. The one who stomped through the woods, scattering all the animals we needed to catch while attracting the things we didn't. None of that going on here.

_Stuck_. The word makes me cringe.

I shake the thought away. Wasn't stuck with her. I was damn lucky to have her. She brought me back from a ledge I was close to teetering over. I would've shut down without her. Would've given in and given up. I was numb, which made me an asshole, but she proved herself to me. She changed. She's smart. She survived. And somewhere along the way she saved me in some weird way.

And now she's here . . . Now she's mine.

* * *

><p>By mid-morning, we've both got a belt of squirrels. Six on hers and six on mine. Plus, Beth has a rabbit. She's fucking good with that bow. Better than I'd expected. Now we're hot on the trail of a fresh pair of tracks, which I'm hoping leads us to a decent sized deer. She spotted those first too, of course.<p>

I'd be lying if I said it wasn't doing nasty things to my ego. But damn.

"When'd you pick up the bow?" I ask, thumping the foot stirrup of her weapon with my middle finger.

"Hunted it down after me and Noah split up." Her fingers curl around the strap, like she's drawing strength from it. "I'd been following those signs Maggie left for Glenn for a few days. Ran into some trouble. After that, I figured I needed something I could protect myself with. Something reliable, you know? Pistol ammo was too hard to come by."

I reach out a pluck a leaf from a nearby tree, casual, like my mind isn't completely stuck on whatever/whoever prompted her to find a weapon. Her shoulders are tense, so I know better than to ask. Yet. "How'd you get so good?"

"Well, I knew the basics—thanks to _you_." She bumps my arm with a little smirk. "It was hard at first, though. Took awhile to build up enough muscle to load the thing, but once I got that down, the rest was easy." She swings the weapon around, then runs her fingers over the barrel fondly. "It's part of me now. That probably seems dumb, but every time it got snatched away, I missed it like a phantom limb. Always got it back though."

Fuck. That makes my stomach drop. My Horton was confiscated at Terminus, and we all know what kind of people they were.

"Ain't dumb," I tell her. "I get it."

She smiles at me and steps forward, clearing a bit of brush covering the tracks. It's clear that she doesn't plan on continuing the conversation, but I can't let it drop just yet. I want a little bit more.

"You said you ran into some trouble," I casually remind her. "What happened?"

Her brows pull in as she studies the ground, and I'm starting to wonder if she plans on answering me when she finally clears her throat. "I was tracking a group, who I'd hoped would be someone from the prison, or at very least, friendly."

"Were they?" I ask, since I already know it wasn't anyone from the group. "Friendly?"

"No." She straightens up and wipes her palms off on her shorts. "Polar opposite of that actually."

"So what happened?" The question is out without considering the repercussions of asking.

Her spine stiffens as she turns to look at me, her gaze unwavering. "I killed them."

She starts to step away, but I grab her elbow, a bit rattled that she was able to speak those words so freely. Sure, I've killed people too, but I don't talk about it like someone's asking about the weather. "What do you mean you killed them?"

"Don't make this a big deal," she says, her voice fracturing around every word.

"Don't make this a big deal?" I repeat, because her lack of logic has me struck dumb. "Can't just say somethin' like that and not give me some sort of explanation, Greene."

"Okay, fine." She pulls her elbow away from me with a jerk as her eyes get all stabby. I'm suddenly regretting asking. She looks like she wants to rip me to shreds. "What do you want me to tell you? That they locked me in a basement and tried to rape me? That I attacked one of them? Bashed his head against the floor until I heard his skull crack? That I took his gun and killed his three pals? That I don't even have a drop of remorse? That I'd do it again if I had to? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Damn. She just gutted me. With words. For a moment, I'm startled by her confession. The Beth I knew wouldn't have been capable of that. But the fact that she is now is a good thing, right? She's fighting to survive. "Beth . . ." I reach out for her, but she takes a step back, her eyes zeroing in on something behind me.

Before I can turn to see what it is, her crossbow is raised, and she's firing a bolt. It hits with a dull thunk. She shoulders past me, and I turn to see her stomping toward a tree to gather the squirrel she just caught.

I open my mouth to say something else, but she whirls around and gives me a hard look, letting me know I better back the hell off. I swallow hard and cross the distance between us. I don't speak, but I do reach out and still her shaking hands as she struggles to strap the squirrel to her belt.

Her eyes snap up to mine, and there's still a fire there. I brush my index finger down her nose then lean in and kiss her forehead. It feels intimate as hell. "I'm sorry," I murmur. "Didn't mean to upset you." When I pull back, her eyes have simmered, back to the same soft blue I love so much. She closes them briefly and nods.

Then, without another word, she heads back to the trail, only to stop to see if I'm following. I am. Of course, I am. I'd follow her anywhere, skeletons in the closet it or not.

* * *

><p>We're nearing the river when we stop again. I hand her the bottle of water from my pack, then pull bandana out of my back pocket and wipe my brow. She twists the lid off and presses her lips to the rim, taking a drink—lucky bottle. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before handing it back to me. I pull my eyes away from her lips and take a drink.<p>

"Do you not want to have sex with me?"

"What?" I splutter, water spilling down my chin. I wipe it away with my hand and look at her with wide eyes. "Why would you even ask that?"

I won't say I haven't imagined sex with Beth, because I have, and I do, imagine it. Sex is easy. I've been doing it since I was fifteen. Usually with women I'd forgotten by morning and didn't give two shits about calling the next day. But sex with Beth? That's in a different realm, a different dimension. It has to be perfect. Like her. That's what she deserves. Shit, just thinking about it is giving me performance anxiety.

She shrugs and fiddles with the hem of her shift. "It's just—I don't know." She drops her shirt and lifts her gaze to mine. "We've had chances, but we never do . . . _that_. I guess I just want to know why. I mean, I know I'm less experienced than you. I've never been with anyone, but I want to be with you."

Her admission is slicing away my bravado, and for the first time in my life, I wish I hadn't slept with so many women. That I'd come to her a little less experienced. A lot less experienced. I never knew she was coming, though.

Hell, if someone told me ten years ago, I was gonna meet a girl who'd change the whole game, one I wouldn't be able to let out of my sight, one who'd make me laugh and challenge me. If they said I was going to fall fast and hard. That I'd wish I didn't have to look her in the eye and tell her I didn't know she was coming into my life, because I would have waited. I wish I'd waited. If someone had told me _that_, I would have laughed. But here we are, and here she is. And every bit of it is true. She's it for me. I wish I would've known she was coming, because I feel like I don't deserve her.

"I ain't ready for you, yet," I admit. "I want to be. You have no idea how bad I want to be. Ain't ever been in a real relationship, though." My hand spans the curve of her waist, reassuring myself that I'm in one now. "Sex, sure, but I don't know what it's like to really trust a woman, or to make love to one. And I don't want it to be like that with you—just fucking. You're more than that, and the timin' has to be right."

She tenses under my hand, and I wonder what I've said to fuck this up.

"Beth—"

She shushes me and glances over like I've been naughty, which I have—in my mind. Pretty much all morning. But then I hear it, a rustling down by the water, just loud enough to carry over the crash of the river. I whip my head around and spot the source—a doe. Down by the river bank.

Beth steps out from behind me, crossbow already raised.

"I saw it first," I murmur.

"I found the tracks," she counters.

I raise my bow, and we both creep forward, both refusing to back down. "It's mine," I tell her.

"Not if I shoot it first."

I line up the shot and take a breath. On my exhale, I pull the trigger, releasing a bolt that cuts through the air with a whistle and sticks. Right between the tear ducts—perfect. Not even a nanosecond after mine hits so does another, the bolt sticking just above mine, just before the deer drops where it stands.

I turn to Beth slack jawed. She turns around and starts to walk off. I scowl at her retreating frame. "C'mon, Greene! You ain't gonna help me carry it?"

She glances over her shoulder with a smirk. "You wanted it. She's all yours now."

Unbelievable.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

Daryl cleans the doe while I take care of all the smaller game. When we're finished, we move the meat to a cooler and pile everything that can't be used on a tarp to burn later. Then he drags the water hose over so we can wash off.

Once my hands are clean, I splash my face with water, then wipe it off with the bottom of my tank top. I glance up at Daryl to say something, but my gaze only makes it halfway up his face. He has this sharp jaw and thin, strong lips. You'd never expect his tongue to be so soft and manipulative based on that jaw and mouth. But I know. And it feels like a secret.

I can't look at his mouth. It always leads to two thoughts, _more_ or _closer_. Just like right now.

"—okay, Green?" He jars me from my growing obsession.

"Hmm?" I ask, like I wasn't just staring like he was a chocolate covered strawberry.

My gaze locks with his, and the deep blue of his eyes is drowning me, and I want it. I would swim away from a lifesaver if anyone bothered to throw me one. His thumb grazes my lower lip, and my tongue sweeps across the tip without thought, catching a hint of salt. His eyes darken as his gaze follows.

Without a word, he takes my hand and leads me past the duck pond, toward the greenhouses, until we reach a small shed. He pops the door open with his shoulder and tugs me into the darkened room after him.

The space is lined with shelves, gardening tools scattered about them. There's hardly room for two people. Not that I'm complaining. I fit my hips to Daryl and kiss him, unable to keep my hands to myself another minute. He crashes into the shelf behind him, and my hands tangle in his hair. A few things wobble but nothing falls, and we don't stop. How does this keep getting better? I can't get enough of the press of his lips, the stroke of his tongue, the way he makes the world around us disappear.

I hitch one of my legs around his hips, and he runs his hand down the back of my thigh, lifting me until I'm at face level. My breasts tingle where they press against his chest, and I shamelessly adjust my position to get as much full-body contact as possible. My heart keeps pace with my breathing, both seeming to stop and start around each kiss.

His hand flexes at my waist, then runs the length from my ribs to my hips. I arch, leaning my head back, and he takes the opening, caressing my neck with his mouth. A jolt of pleasure shoots through my middle. I want him. I don't think I've ever wanted anything more. I'm dizzy with it. No one's ever made me feel this way.

I roll my hips into his, only to be rewarded with the rumble of a moan against my throat. My fingers slip down his neck, digging into the tense, corded muscles of his shoulders. One of his hands threads through my hair, while the other slips beneath the back of my shirt, caressing bare skin and holding me against him.

His fingers linger on the hollow of my spine, lightly tracing patterns. Every nerve ending in my body sizzles to life. I rock my hips into his again, unable to stay still. The kisses grow longer, more intense, until we're a mess of hands, teeth, and tongues.

When we finally break apart, we're both panting. I giggle as I unwrap myself from him. He shakes his head at me and gives me that damn half-grin. The one I can't resist. I bet that got him out of more than his fair share of trouble when he was younger, and probably got him into more than his share of girls. The smile fades from my face as my thoughts run amok, refusing to listen to reason. Even worse, my mouth opens.

"How many girls have you slept with?"

_Oh, God. I didn't._

His face morphs into an impenetrable mask. "Why?"

I wrap a strand of hair around my finger as my eyes dart between his scowl and the ground. "Just seems like a reasonable question. Especially since we've been spending so much time together."

His jaw ticks as he backs away from me, crossing his arms over his chest. "You don't want me to answer that, Greene."

"I do, though." Technically, I don't want to know, but I have to know. "I mean, if we're ever gonna be anything more than this I need to know, Daryl."

His eyes slide shut, and he sighs like he's been defeated, his head falling to the fiberglass shell of the shed. "Is the answer gonna change the way you feel about me?" A small 'v' forms on his brow as his eyes open.

I put my hands on his biceps and trace small circles with my thumbs, trying to give him some type of reassurance. "No." His reluctance is enough to make me want to breathe into a paper bag. How many could there possibly be? A dozen? Two dozen? Jesus.

"And if I tell you that I don't know? That I never marked my bedpost?" He's holding my hips like he's scared I'm going to run away.

I lean back and look him in the eye. "You can't even guess?"

"I can try." He looks past my head, his eyes darting from side to side like he's calling up memories. "Didn't really keep track. It usually happened when I was drunk and pissed off. No emotion involved. Just instant gratification." He scrubs his hand over his face. "I don't know how many there were. A lot, I guess. I wish I didn't have to tell you that, but I was a different person before the turn. Before you. I can tell you that I was safe every time. Never had sex without a condom."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Okay."

His brows pull down. "That's all you're gonna say?"

I shouldn't have asked, because now there's some weird, angry monster clawing it's way up my throat. If I had to give it a name—jealousy. I feel tears prick at me eyes, and I quickly close them.

_Not now. Please, not now._

I can't cry in front of him. I press the heels of my palms against my lashes, desperately trying to sop up any of the tears that squeeze through before he can see.

"Beth, don't do that." His voice is soft. "Don't hold this in. Talk to me."

I let my hands fall away and sigh in defeat. "I just don't understand. If it was so easy to be with them. Why don't you want me?" God, I'm such a baby. I need to shut my mouth before I embarrass myself any further. "I know you said—"

He interrupts me by crushing his mouth to mine. I let out a startled gasp, and his tongue slips into my mouth. His lips are the perfect amount of firmness and softness as our mouths begin a sinful game of tug-of-war.

His voice is low and his breath is hot on my skin when he pulls away. "Is that what you think? That I don't want you?" He shakes his head, his lips brushing mine, as he pulls me forward by the hips and presses his erection into my stomach. "You think I don't wanna bend you over that table and fuck you so good, so thorough, that you never wanna let anyone else inside you?"

Quivering, I somehow manage to shake my head.

His lips brush the shell of my ear. "No one will ever make you come has hard as I can." He places a kiss on my jaw and pulls back, his eyes a darker blue that sears into me. "I will ruin you. Once I get inside you, ain't no goin' back. You'll be mine, and ain't no one ever gonna be enough after that. There will only be me."

It isn't a threat. It's a delicious promise that has me clenching in anticipation, and I have no doubt that he will, in every sense of the word, ruin me. With a growl, he backs me across the small space until my back connects with something hard. He reaches out and sweeps his hand across the counter, a box of tools and a bag of seeds go crashing to the ground. In one swift motion, he lifts me up and plops me down on the hard surface behind me. His eyes are wild with barely controlled lust—the same that has ahold of me.

"I think about you every second of every day." His fingers grip my hip and the base of my neck as he pulls me in for a scorching kiss, settling between my legs. "I can't wait to try everything with you. You're different." He licks and sucks his way along my neck. "_This_ is different—it's better. And when you're ready, I'm gonna make you mine. But right now, I'm gonna make you come."

He tugs my belt open then flicks the button of my pants free. The hungry look in his eyes is stealing my breath, and I literally cannot speak. Every time I open my mouth the only thing that comes out is a whimper or a moan.

My thoughts cease when his hand slips into my panties and his middle finger strokes down in a slow motion. Right where I want him to touch me. Right where I'm so hot for him. "Daryl," I cry out, my hips bucking in response. He slips lower and lets loose a ragged sigh.

"Fuck. You're wet."

I whimper and rock toward him. This urgency, this burning need, it's all still so new to me. I've never needed anyone like this. Never been consumed by someone else. But, God, he is consuming. And I want it. I want it all.

"Does this feel good?" His voice slides up and down my spine like a cube of ice, and I shiver and want more. Now.

I manage a nod, my cheek scraping the stubble of his jaw. As if in reward, his fingers stroke me, putting firm pressure on that sweet little bundle of nerves, and I cry out, the sound bouncing off the walls of the small space.

Daryl seals his lips over mine. "You gotta be quiet, baby. I wanna feel you come around my fingers. I wanna know how tight you are when you get there, so I can fantasize about how you'll feel when I finally get to be inside you. But you gotta be quiet. Can you do that for me?"

I nod my head again, and he takes control of my mouth as he stokes through my folds, keeping a rhythm in both that has me keening. Whimpering, I thrust my hips against his hand, shamelessly seeking more contact. One of his hands urge me back, tilting my hips, so he can delve deeper, the angle allowing him to slide a finger inside me.

I gasp, and he swallows the sound, dragging that finger along my inner walls, listening for my reaction, waiting for it to hitch. When it does, he withdraws it, only to thrust two inside. I gasp his name, overwhelmed by the sensation.

He presses the heel of his hand against my clit while working me with his fingers, curling them to hit a spot that had me moaning with each thrust, unable to keep quiet.

"You're not behaving, Greene," he murmurs before biting my shoulder. "Don't make me turn you over and spank you."

I clamp my bottom lip between my teeth, trying—and failing—to stifle another moan. His words alone are pushing me dangerously close to the edge. Every sensation in my body is concentrating on where his fingers are, building and intensifying until my vision is dotted with bursts of light. His tongue, his lips, his fingers—so many sensations all rolled into the same feeling of sweet tension and sheer bliss.

"Let me feel you come," he commands, and I'm powerless against him. He thrust his fingers inside me once more, meeting me as I rock my hips into him, and when he rubs the heel of his hand against me with perfect pressure, I shatter, clenching around his fingers.

I scream his name, my hips shamelessly bucking as my world narrows to Daryl. He kisses me, stealing my breath, like he can inhale my orgasm as he strokes the aftershocks from my body with deft, skilled fingers. I tighten around him when another wave hits, and he groans.

"I told you to be quiet," he admonishes, his eyes raking over me as he withdraws his fingers and snaps my shorts, trembling slightly.

I flush, feeling a familiar heat creep over my neck and into my cheeks. "I tried."

He pulls me down from the table, smirking. "Sure you did."

I'm out of my mind with lust right now, and all my thoughts are focused on seeing and touching him like he just did with me. I hook my fingers in his front pockets and tug him to me, cupping him through his jeans.

He groans and tangles his hand in my hair. "We can't. If my cock comes out, that fucker's gonna find a way inside you, and it's not gonna stop at that pretty mouth of yours. I know it and you know it."

He's right. And honestly, I'm a little shocked that is. I've never wanted anyone this way, an it continues to floor me. My head is swimming as I straighten out my clothes, watching Daryl rearrange his erection. I'm so distracted by him that I bump into the shelf behind me when I turn to pick up the things we knocked over, which only sends more stuff crashing to the ground.

We pick everything up, putting tools on shelves where they probably don't belong. I'm scooping up the last of the seeds that spilled out of the bag when I hear it—someone clearing their throat. Then a cough. Right. Outside. The. Door.

I shoot up and whirl around to face Daryl with wide, terrified eyes. "No."

He looks just as freaked out as I do. "Told you to be quiet."

I shoot him a look as I shove him toward the door. "Go out there."

He spins around and pivots, switching places with me. "I ain't goin' out there—you go out there. You were the one makin' all the noise."

"You were the one causing it," I whisper-shout, poking him in the chest with my finger.

He opens his mouth to argue with me, but we're interrupted by whoever's outside. "You know we can hear you, right?"

"Oh, thank God." I cover my pounding heart with my hand. "It's just Lemon."

"Sasha and Ty are out here too," she informs. "And Rick."

"We just got here, though," Sasha adds. Her polite way of saying they didn't hear anything, even though I'm pretty sure they did.

"Fuck," Daryl mutters under his breath as he his hand on my lower back, nudging me toward the door.

I shake my head and plant my heels. I'm not going out there. I can_not_ go out there. I'll melt into a puddle of embarrassment if I do.

Daryl chuckles as I duck behind his back. "Can't hide in here forever, Greene."

I sigh, hating that he's right. We have to face this very awkward situation. I clutch to the back of his shirt as he goes for the door. He pushes it open with his palm, and sunlight floods the tiny room. I peek out from behind Daryl and sure enough—there they are. Lemon and Duke. Sasha, Ty, and Rick. Kill me. Daryl rubs the back of his neck, the tips of his ears pink. At least I'm not the only one that's embarrassed.

Lemon is bouncing on her heels, looking like she's about to burst. Sasha's mouth is tilted up in a knowing smile. Rick looks flat out amused. Ty looks like he feels bad about how uncomfortable we feel. Oh yeah, they knew what we were doing in there.

Daryl clears his throat to break the awkward silence. "Guess we oughta get that meat to the kitchen."

"I'll help," Rick says, following him over to the gazebo where we left the cooler.

Ty gets a couple shovels out of the shed before him and Sasha head back to the greenhouses, leaving me alone with Lemon.

"How long were you out here?" I hiss as soon as they're out of earshot.

Her grin just gets wider. "Long enough."

I press my palm to my forehead and look up at the sky, waiting for a sinkhole to open at my feet and put me out of my misery. "I am so embarrassed."

"Chill." She reaches out and straightens my tank top. "I'm the only one that heard anything, and I wasn't close enough to hear much—just the big finale." She waggles her brows at me, just to be annoying. "The others didn't come over until after. They heard y'all banging around in there like a couple of bulls in a china cabinet, and I'm sure they knew something was up, but they weren't here for that ear-splitting orgasm. Daryl must be really good with his hands—"

I hit her in the shoulder with the back of my hand. "Stop."

"Okay, okay," she laughs and rubs the spot, even though I know it didn't hurt. After a beat, she gets all serious on me. "Listen, I think it's great. I really do. But . . ."

"But?" I raise my brows at her.

"Just be careful. I don't wanna see you get hurt."

I nod my head, because I don't want to tell her it's already too late. That I'm invested in this, and I'm at Daryl's mercy. He got to me. He's in my heart, and I couldn't get him out if I wanted to. The only thing I can do now is hope he doesn't break it.

* * *

><p><strong>Daryl has a dirty mouth. I can't help it! Lol. As always, thank you for the reviews. You girls keep me going! I read and love them all. <strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**_Daryl_**

For the past two weeks, I've had breakfast with Beth in the dining room every morning. She doesn't wake up before dawn anymore, and she sleeps in my bed every night. When we do get up, I wait for her to shower and get ready, then we go downstairs together. We sit at the same table every day. It's in the back of the room by a window that overlooks the front lawn, but everyone notices. Everyone whispers about it. Speculates. They have nothing better to do. That's the downside of having a solid sanctuary. People are bored, which makes Beth and I the talk of the town.

Lemon and Adam sit with us. Sometimes Maggie brings Hope over. She's the only one who doesn't seem to be okay with this. There's always a fierceness behind her eyes when she sees us together, a warning. Something along the lines of busting my balls if I do anything to hurt her sister. I can respect that. Besides, it's not like I plan to hurt Beth. I'd never do that. So Maggie can fuck off.

When we get the chance, we eat lunch and dinner together too. Sometimes she hunts with me, even though, yeah, it fucks with my ego. We've been back to the orchard a few times, and honestly, I enjoy all of it. I want to be around her. I'm even turning down runs. I know I can't dodge Mark forever. Eventually, I'll have to go back out and do my part. But for now, I'm perfectly content with playing it safe. And that's something I never thought I'd be—content.

I'm fucking whipped. And I don't care.

When I finish breakfast, I squeeze Beth's hand below the table and tell her I'll see her at lunch. Then I mosey out to the front. Abraham's been on watch all night. His relief is in the infirmary with a fever, and I know me taking my sweet time to get out there is gonna make him pissy as hell. I really don't give a fuck. He's sort of an asshole.

Rick is at the bottom of the steps, grinning, when I come out the front door. I know that look. "Alright, asshole," I grumble. "Let's hear it."

He falls into step beside me with a chuckle. He's been giving me hell since that day he caught me and Beth coming out of that shed. He jerks his head toward the window where Beth and Lemon still sit, eating breakfast. "You still trying to act like nothing's going on there?"

I fish a cigarette outta the pack in my pocket and light it up before I answer. "Ain't nothin'."

He snorts. "Oh, it's something."

I scowl at him. "Your dick fall off or somethin'? That why you keep askin' me about this? We gonna start a book club next?" I don't talk about my feelings. Ever.

He laughs at that but doesn't answer. He knows well enough that I won't talk about it. Hell, I don't need to say anything. We both know there's definitely _something _between Beth and I. Life would be easier if he'd stop giving me shit about it. Guess I can't blame him though. This all ties back into not having shit to do here. He's gotta find something to occupy his time.

Fuck that though. I'm not spending my days gossiping with Rick while he braids my hair. I've got better ways to occupy my time. Like making Beth come. And making her laugh. And picking her fucking flowers. And listening to her sing.

_Pussy._

I can hear Merle's voice in the back of my head, saying it over and over again, but he can fuck off too. I'm a different man now. Beth's a game changer. Everything is different now. Everything's better.

* * *

><p>That evening, everyone gathers on the lawn below the terrace. String lights are wrapped around the columns of the stone banisters that flank the staircases, stemming from either side of the terrace. There are lanterns scattered about on the tables nearby, and down on the lawn, dozens of tiki torches illuminate the area in a soft glow.<p>

Couples are strewn about around them, swaying from side to side as Etta James croons from the sound system Eugene rigged. Lemon is smack dab in the middle, because she set this whole thing up. She has a megaphone, and I wanna know who the fuck gave it to her, so I can let them know just how stupid it was. We're gonna have so many walkers piled up at the fences tomorrow.

Even so, it's worth it. Everyone looks pretty happy. Sasha and Bob. Rick and Michonne with Judith wedged between them. Carol and some smuck, who I can never remember his name. Glenn and Maggie are up on the terrace with Hope, watching, along with half a dozen others. Shit like this is good for the group. It's easy to forget who you are in a world like this. Moments like this tend to remind you. Keeps people sane.

I seriously doubt it'll cause much trouble, anyway. Been awhile since we had a large herd come through. Maybe they're dwindling; that seems logical enough. Longer walkers go without food, the weaker they get. Seems like maybe the worst is over, and that's a crazy thought. It'd mean surviving wouldn't be so much about walkers as rebuilding civilization, which is what we're trying to do here.

I'm sitting near the bottom of the steps, content to just watch. Beth is nearby. She's dancing with Lizzie, who's giggling as Beth spins her a few times. Carl's beside me, and when I glance at him, his eyes are glued to Lizzie's every move. Have been this entire time.

I slap him on the back, jolting him from his trance. "You oughta get out there."

"Nah." He shakes his head immediately, looking embarrassed. "Seems lame. My grandma did this sort of thing at her retirement home."

"Her retirement home have girls like that?" I ask, nudging my chin toward Beth and Lizzie.

He ducks his head and flushes. "No."

I raise my brows, as if to silently ask what the hold up is then.

"Maybe _you_ oughta get out there," he deflects. "Spin Beth around or some shit."

"Nah." I reach for a cigarette, then realize I smoked my last one earlier in the guard tower. Gonna have to get more from the commissary. "I don't dance."

"Don't or _can't_?" He has the audacity to look a little smug, like he knows the answer.

I lift my hand to smack him on the back of the head, but he ducks away from me and grins. I shake my head. "'Course I cain't dance, boy. I'm a Dixon."

Truth is, I never wanted to try, but even I have to admit that holding Beth close is enough of a reason to wanna try now. I aim to change the subject instead, stretching my leg out to kick Adam between the shoulder blades.

He twists around to look at me and almost spills the mason jar of hooch he's holding. He offers it to me, but I shake my head. I point at the megaphone Lemon's holding instead. "Someone's gonna have to take that away from her." She's busy rattling off counts, her voice cracking through the loud speaker. Most everyone is ignoring her, but a few couples are trying the ballroom shit she's trying to teach, making a square as they dance and turn and dip and spin.

Adam laughs and takes a swig. "Not gonna be me. I wanna keep my head."

I'm opening my mouth to give him shit when Mark, who's been leaning against the staircase to our right, plops down on the step with a snort. "You're a candy ass, college boy. You know that? Can't even keep your girl in line."

That makes me bristle for some reason. It's all fun and games when _I_ give Adam shit, but hearing Mark do it is different. Adam's an alright guy. He's grown on me. Mark's the one who's been a real asshole lately.

I'm ready to tell Mark to fuck off when Adam hands him his jar of hooch. "Here," he tells Mark. "You obviously need this, you sad sack of shit. At least I've got a girl. And so what if she's got me wrapped around her finger? What's so wrong with that?" He glances out at Lemon and grins. "My world starts and stops with that woman. I don't care if that makes me a pussy."

I can't help but grin at this. I'd never fault him for it. I have a weakness too. I glance at Beth again and decide that if I'm going to have a weakness, I'm glad it's a beautiful one.

Without another word, Adam stands and makes his way toward Lemon, stopping mid-way to give Mark the finger. Mark snorts and rolls his eyes, and it just makes him look like an even bigger asshole. Adam coaxes the megaphone out of Lemon's hands, then wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her in close as they fall into step. The way he's looking at her, like she's the sun after a long snow, stirs something in my chest. I fucking know that look. It's the same way I look at Beth. He_ is_ whipped. Just like me.

My gaze finds its way back to Beth. She leans in and tells Lizzie something that makes the girl's cheeks go fire engine red. Beth lets go of her, and Lizzie protests for a moment. Then Beth gives her a firm push, and she stumbles forward. Slowly, she lifts her eyes from the ground to look at Carl, who's also blushing like a school kid. When Lizzie waves for him to join her, it spreads to his ears.

I chuckle under my breath and give him a shove from behind, pushing him up and away. He stumbles but manages to get his shit together before he jogs toward her. For a moment, they just stand there, staring at each other. It's not until Beth arranges their hands and pushes them together that they snap out of it.

Beth is grinning like a proud mama bear when she comes striding over. She stops at the bottom of the steps and looks at me expectantly. I raise my brows at her, because I'm not sure what she wants from me. Ain't no ballroom dancer that's for damn sure.

She tilts her head to the side, a grin pulling at her lips. "You aren't gonna make me dance alone . . . are you, Mr. Dixon?"

I scrub my hand over my face and try to ignore Mark as he glances from me to Beth and back again. Dancing with Beth seems like it would be intimate . . . and public as hell, given the scenario. Aside from the occasional brush of hands, we don't touch when we're around other people. Ain't that I don't want to. I'm just not good at shit like that. Us just being near each other already has people talking. It makes me uncomfortable—people wanting to know my business. Don't wanna stir the pot any more than I have to.

Mark crosses his arms over his chest and laughs, and something about it raises my hackles. "If he won't take you out there, I damn sure will."

That gets me off my ass, fast. Before Beth can even think about answering him, I lurch myself to my feet, take her hand, and lead her away from Mark. Far, far away. I don't want him to be able to look at her, much less speak to her. Pulling her to a slow stop on the outskirts of the torches, I take her in my arms, placing one hand on the small of her back and using the other to pull one of her hands up to my chest , trapping it between our bodies and pressing it right against my heartbeat.

After a minute, Beth's lashes flutter up and she tips her head back to look at me. "There's something I've noticed about you."

"And what's that?" I grin down at her.

She bites her bottom lip. "Just that you're different now."

"How so?" I implore, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles.

She doesn't respond immediately, and the fact that everything about this moment feels intimate and public is nerve-racking. Faintly, I'm aware that Rick is nearby, glancing at us curiously. I steer Beth farther away from the torches, until we're just outside the edge of illumination, then I glance up at the terrace, happy to see that Maggie and Glenn are busy with Hope.

Beth's hand curls around my bicep, and she finally answers, "You smile more." Her voice is soft, something vulnerable and bare about it.

A fierce possessiveness rips through my chest. It's almost dangerous how strong the urge to kiss her is. Right now. In front of everyone. I want to mark her. Make her mine and make sure everyone knows it.

"Why is that?" she asks, tracing a small circle on my chest with her index finger. "Why do you smile more?"

The air hangs heavy between us, charged and electric. _You know_, I say internally, _you're the reason, you have to know that_. I can't get the damn words out. It feels like I'm reliving that night at the funeral home all over again as her question hangs in the air between us.

_You. You make me smile more. It's always been you._

My silence is an answer in itself, and I know she has to be feeling everything I'm trying to say. It's gotta be written all over my face. I watch her eyes grow wide with surprise, then burn with understanding. "_Oh_."

Our eyes are locked, and we each pause, waiting for the other to make a move. The anticipation is killing me. I take a breath. Then she takes one. And then before I can think another agonizing thought, I dip my head, so my lips are hovering just above hers, but not touching. Not yet.

"I'm gonna kiss you," I warn her.

Her mouth falls open. "But people will think we're together . . . "

Chuckling, I brush the tip of my nose along hers. "That's the point, Greene."

"Okay," she breathes.

With that, I do exactly what I said would. I kiss her. It's meant to be an innocent, quick touch of lips, but the second I come into contact with her soft mouth and taste the strawberry on her tongue, everything else falls away. Everything in my world condenses down to her—to Beth and this moment.

My tongue sweeps through her mouth, staking its claim. Demanding. Almost desperate. But she doesn't seem to mind. I grip her waist like she's my lifeline as I slant my mouth over hers again and again. Her fingers dig into my arm as she reaches up on her tiptoes to get a little bit closer.

Never in a million years would I have guessed the amount of passion her small body could hold. But I know now. I've spent weeks exploring it, and I can't get enough. I'm selfish. I want it all for myself.

She nips my bottom lip, then sucks it into her mouth. Then our tongues tangle together again, and her lips consume mine. I find myself instantly rock-hard, and she notices.

She smiles against my lips. "I think you liked that."

"What gave me away?" I ask with a grin, wedging myself even tighter against her.

Beth laughs and kisses me again. The second kiss is just as consuming as the first. I tighten my arm around her, holding her tight, possession like a set of impenetrable handcuffs as it encloses around me. Need slams into my so hard it almost knocks me over.

I won't wait another second. Not one. I cup her jaw, my fingers splaying out against the sides of her head as I lean back, so I can look her in the eye. "I wanna take you to bed, Beth."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beth<em>**

"I wanna take you to bed, Beth."

I feel my brows furrow as I struggle to process the words through the fog of lust that has descended my brain. As they do, I only fall deeper into the haze. _Yes—bed. Take me to bed._

I nod. Probably a little too enthusiastically, but I want this. I want _him_. Badly.

In one smooth motion, Daryl pivots us around, so his back is toward the group, pulling me even father out of illumination, as he reaches down and adjusts the bulge in his pants. Then he takes my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. I keep my head down, so we don't have to talk to anyone on the way inside.

I hear Maggie call out to me, her voice sounds far away and in a tunnel. I shove Daryl from behind, practically tripping over him in my haste to get away from her. When we hit the stairwell, between the third and fourth floor, I trip over my own feet and stumble to my knees. Daryl spins around and pulls me back up with a chuckle. We're close enough that I can feel his breath on my face.

Pausing for a second, he reaches out and pushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. He looks at me. Yes, he's looked at me many times before. But never like this. This is very different. The look laid bare in his sparkling blue eyes is raw and intense.

One of his hands curves around my hip and tugs me just a little bit closer. When he leans down, I stretch up. The kiss is fierce, unyielding, demanding everything I have to give. I grasp the back of his neck and hold him close, desperate to drink him in.

After a long minute, he moans against my mouth. "You have to let me go."

"No." I can't. More. I need more. Now.

I run my hand down his chest, my fingertips bumping over the buttons until I reach the hem of his shirt. Skimming my hand under the fabric, I trace the lines of his abs, memorizing every last ridge and curve. My fingers press into his skin.

"Beth," he breathes my name like a prayer. "You have to let go, baby." He pushes my hands down, but his eyes tell me it's the last thing he wants to do. "You have to let me go before I fuck you right here on these steps."

The irrational part of me could care less. Any surface would do. But the logical part of my brain is screaming for me to get my shit together long enough to get into his bed. I pull in a ragged breath and nod my head, determined to behave until we get upstairs. When we finally make it to his room, he flicks on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a soft glow. He turns to me, hair all out of place and perfect, his blue eyes right on me, wild and wide. Hungry.

I take the deepest breath I can muster before he kisses me, his hands roaming over my rear and back, taking me in like he's greedy for me. My hands do the same, finding tight muscles and loose clothes and a slightly-stubbled jawline that makes me want to scratch myself against it forever.

His fingertips graze my face, as if memorizing the lines of my cheekbones, my lips, and I open my mouth, deepening the kiss. I'm rewarded by a low groan that vibrates his chest. He backs me toward the bed and lifts me. His steps are steady, but his breathing is ragged. It's the only sign that he's as lost in lust as I am.

He lowers me to the bed slowly, his weight pressing me into the soft down comforter until I'm enveloped in the feel and scent of him. His hands slip off my boots, then he drags his fingers up the insides of my legs. When he gets to my center, he curves his hands out to slide up over my hip and then up to my breasts, teasing them through the fabric.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, his lips grazing up my neck as his hands squeeze my hips. I thread my fingers through his hair and arch into him. His lips skim down my neck, sending chills that alternate between hot and cold down my spine. I moan his name as he traces a sensitive path toward my collarbone.

"You have no idea how long I've been waitin' for this," he whispers against my skin as he slides down my body with delicious friction, running his tongue along my navel as he slowly raises my shirt. He glances up with questioning eyes, waiting for my approval. I nod, and he slides it over my head, kissing me again as it passes my mouth.

Then his lips are back on my stomach, teasing and tracing the hollows and planes of my abdomen. He makes me feel beautiful. Desired. My back bows off the bed, driving my hips up to his, and he slides his palms around my back, unsnapping my bra with the flick of a few fingers. He slips the straps down reverently, his breath catching in his throat as my breasts are bared to him.

I wrench myself up and grab for his shirt at the waist. Tugging it over his head, I run my fingertips over the hard planes of his stomach and the trail of coarse hair that disappears into his jeans. I sink my fingers into his waistband, unable to help myself. There's not a spare ounce of fat on him. No give. No softness.

I run my tongue over the hard lines of corded muscle wrapping his chest. He sucks his breath in through his teeth, and when I raise my eyes to meet his, they're focused on me. His hands delve into my hair, holding me lightly to him, but clenching and unclenching his fists, like he's unable to control his own motions.

I revel in the fact that I do this to him—make him lose control. It's not long before I have his belt undone and jeans unbuttoned. "Beth," he growls in warning. "I'm trying to go slow. Cooperate."

"I can't." I push his pants down until they're pooling at his knees. My hands graze over the elastic of his boxers as I meet his eyes. The intensity radiating from his gaze sends a surge straight through my middle, and I nearly forget what I'm doing.

My fingers skate over a raised portion of skin on his lower abdomen. It's the scar he got when Nelly threw him and he shot himself with his crossbow. I lean forward and kiss it—once, twice, three times—lightly tracing it with my tongue. He groans and pushes me back down to the bed.

In one motion, he kicks his jeans the rest of the way off and gets busy with ridding me of mine. I lift my hips as he slides the denim over them and down my legs. The ache between my thighs intensifies as his eyes rake over my body. "You're fucking perfect. Every inch of you."

His praise warms me to the tips of my toes, and I'm ready to beg when he lowers himself, his head between my thighs, breathing on me through the thin fabric of my panties.

My hips lift to his mouth on their own accord. My body knows where it belongs. "Daryl, please."

He breathes on me again. "What do you need, baby?"

"You." My hips buck against his mouth; I can't even be embarrassed by my wanton behavior.

"Me?" He laughs softly, his mouth vibrating against me, twisting me into knots.

I prop myself up on my elbows. "Daryl Dixon, it's not nice to tease."

He shoots me a devilish grin. "Never said I was nice, Greene."

I huff, and he laughs. But then, before I can really fuss, his hands glide down my sides until his thumbs hook into the fabric at either side of my hips. He holds my gaze as he drags my panties down my thighs, nothing but reverence in his eyes. I lift my legs one at a time, placing them on either side of him.

He slides between my open thighs, stroking the bare skin of my torso with his. His boxer briefs are the only thing that separates us as he rocks his hips into me. The contact makes me groan, and I loop my ankle over his hip, a new urgency fueling the speed and pressure. I clench his hips like a vise as he stokes himself over me, his erection gliding just enough where I need it to wreck me, but not enough to get me off. I can only whimper and take what he gives as he controls me, stroking his tongue into my mouth at the same speed he's thrusting against me. He's losing some of his control, but I want him to lose it all.

I skim my fingers down his back then drag them around his abdomen to the waistband of his boxers, slipping between it and his stomach. His hand freezes above the breast he's exploring, and he lets out a slow breath.

I turn my palm flat—fingers pointed south—and slip farther beneath his briefs. The back of my hand grazes his long, hard length, and my stomach flutters. He presses his forehead to mine and moans my name. I spread my fingers apart along his lower stomach and slide through the hair of his groin, tugging at the skin and tightening places I know are aching, because I'm aching there too.

When my thumb grazes the outline of his erection, his fingers tangle in my hair and grip. He pushes me to the bed, thrusting against me in one long, delicious slide. "Stop that. Or I'm going to snap."

I flip my hand over and squeeze his length. "Snap already. I'm on fire."

He growls into my neck, and his kisses change from languorous to abandoned. Yes. This is what I want. I need him reckless, wild, uninhibited. No more caution or restraint. Rearing back on his hands, he looks at me with raw need. I whimper and lift my hips, the ache between my thighs becoming unbearable.

He breaks away from me, and we stare at each other for a beat. I fear I may spontaneously combust at any given moment. Without breaking our gaze, he slides down my body until his head is between my legs. Then his mouth is on me, pressing a gentle kiss on my thigh. He grabs my ankle and wraps it over his shoulder, completely exposing me.

His lips mark a trail of fire as he teases closer and closer until his tongue dips into me. Neither of us look away, and his expression alone threatens to melt me. I see it in his eyes. How this is different. That I mean more to him. I hope he sees the same in mine. Unable to control it any longer, I moan loudly. I grip his hair, and tilt my head, and arch my back. Anything to be closer.

Around and around he goes, massaging the most delicate part of me. Desperate from contact, I wind one hand through his hair and the other tangles in the sheet beside my hip, like it could possibly hold me to the earth while he spirals me out of control. He blows on me, and my hips buck. "Daryl!"

"What?" He drags his tongue over my slowly. "More?"

"Yes, please." I barely recognize my voice. "More."

He hums his approval, and the vibrations send another flood of pleasure through me. Unable to control my movements, my hips surge forward, my breaths coming in gasps. He slips a finger inside me and strokes, keeping time with his tongue against those nerves. He looks almost feral as he slips another finger in and thrusts. I cry out, then go speechless, pressure building low within in me, so tight I fear I may actually break apart.

I'm panting by the time the first spasm hits. Daryl's gaze turns hazy and unfocused, as if he feels my orgasm building and it pleasures him too. I call his name over and over, unable to think of any other word. Then he presses up with his fingers, swirling his tongue at the same time, and I explode around him. Lights flash behind my eyes as I clench around him again and again until I feel limp.

He kisses my throat and then my lips, every muscle locked and rigid. "Watching you do that is the sexiest thing I've ever seen." His breathing is ragged, his hands firm, but I feel a slight tremor race through him as he strokes my curves, kick-starting another fire in me.

I run my fingers down the smooth expanse of muscle and skin of his back. It's then that I realize his boxers are still on. I pluck at the waistband. "These have to go."

"Bossy." He smiles as he strips them off. For the first time in my life, I'm in bed, completely naked, with a man, and it's glorious. I angle against him, knowing that if he moved the slightest fraction of an inch, he'd be inside me. God, I need him there. I need him to stop the ache, to quell the burn.

His arms tense and shake beside my head. He's holding his breath. "This is it, Beth," he says carefully. "If we do this, ain't no going back."

"I'm yours, Daryl." I look into eyes so there's no misunderstanding. "Now take me."

His breath ragged, he breaks away from me, reaching for a foil packet in his night stand. He stills before rolling it on, his jaw clenching. "Tell me you want this. That you won't regret it in tomorrow. I can't do this if you ain't sure 'bout us."

His hands are shaking, so I cover them with my own. "Daryl, I'm sure. I want this, I want you. I'm yours."

He rolls the condom over his length, protecting us both. I swivel my hips until he nudges my entrance. I have a moment of naïve fear of his size, but it lasts all of one second before I remember he would never hurt me. I'm ready for this.

I pull on his neck, bringing him down to me and thrusting my tongue into his mouth at the same time he presses the head of his erection inside me. He swallows my gasp, slipping in another inch. I clench down on him, burning slightly as he stretches me.

With a strangled groan, he snaps, sliding into me to the hilt. The exquisite pressure of having him inside me, filling every part of me and pushing for more, makes me gasp. He lays his forehead against mine, a fine sheen of perspiration covering his skin, making him glow. Any sting I felt when he entered me dissolves after a few seconds. I wiggle my hips experimentally.

He hisses through his teeth. "Jesus, Beth. Don't. Move. You're so fucking tight. You feel like you were made for me."

I gently bite his lower lip. "That's because I was."

Something in him breaks free, and with a primitive sound, he begins to move, stroking my body with his in equal, measured thrusts, angling my hips just right so he pushes within me exactly where I need him to.

This. Is. Amazing.

Pleasure radiates through every cell in my body as I bring my hips against him by instinct, meeting him as he slides into me again and again. He kisses me as he thrusts, claiming my mouth the same way he's claiming my body—fully, completely, with no extra inch or give.

When he pulls back, his eyes lock onto mine and hold. The intensity is still there, but there's something else. A tenderness that I've never seen before. It's overwhelming. It stirs something inside me I've never felt before. Something I can't even name. This isn't fucking. Daryl Dixon is making love to me. It's tender and sweet and animalistic all at the same time.

Reaching between our bodies, he stokes me to insanity. It's not long before I'm spinning out of control. "Daryl, _please_. I need—I need—" I beg in a voice that I don't even recognize as my own, unable to form a thought.

"I know, baby. I got you." His deep voice vibrates against my chest, fanning the flames licking up my core. He grasps my hips in his hands and pushes deeper, harder, pounding into me without control, and I revel in it.

My orgasm slams into me, splintering me into tiny pieces just to further rip me apart and put me back together in a glorious moment of release. Calling out his name, I open my eyes to see his face contort beautifully as he climaxes. He moans my name in a strangled cry before collapsing on top of me, his weight deliciously oppressive. I can barely breathe, and I don't want to.

He raises his head and kisses me tenderly. "You okay?" His brows pucker as he rolls off of me. "Didn't mean to lose it like that."

All I can manage is a satisfied, "Mmm."

He pulls me to his chest. Every so often, my body jerks with the aftershocks of the insane pleasure that just rocked me to my core. My entire body feels boneless and satisfied. I pray he feels the same. Neither of us are able to speak, so we don't say a word. Instead, we lay in the dark, him drawing lazy circles over my lower back and my cheek pillowing on his chest.

Eventually, he gets up and goes to bathroom to clean up. I still can't move. When he comes back, the mattress dips under his weight as he tucks the soft comforter up around me and pulls me back into his arms. He kisses my forehead and my cheek, then my lips.

My eyelids grow heavy. I force them open and tip my head back to say something, but the words get stuck in my throat, because he's looking at me with that same tenderness I saw when he was inside me.

I swallow hard.

I think he just ruined me.

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><p><strong>So it finally happened. Let me know what you think! I kept getting stuck on this chapter, and I hate forcing it, so it took me an entire week to get this together. I hope you like it! All your reviews have been so sweet. They keep me going, so more to come soon! P.S. I only proofread this once so you probably found some errors. I'm sorry if they messed up the flow! I'm gonna try to edit tomorrow and smooth it out. But I had to post this as soon as I finished. I hate make y'all wait!<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**This chapter is short, but the end felt like an important moment and I didn't wanna pair it with anything else. Next chapter we'll probably get out of the bedroom and back to civilization. I hope everyone is enjoying their weekend! As always, thank you for the reviews. I love hearing from y'all!  
><strong>

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><p><strong><em>Daryl<em>**

Beth is curled up beside me. Her small body fits against mine like the missing piece to a puzzle. It's raining outside, but her breathing is steady and her body is relaxed, so I know she's sleeping. Over and over, I drag my fingers through the length of her hair, loving the way it slips through my fingers like silk.

This is new territory for me. I've had sex with women before, sure. But I never spent the night with them after. Usually once I slept with a girl, I ushered them out or scared them away before I could even pull the condom off.

This is so much better.

I don't want Beth to go—ever. I want her again. And again. And again. I want to lock her away and throw away the key, so I can keep her all to myself. I've been inside her once. _Once_. And now my body is craving her like some sort of illicit drug.

Beth sighs against me and presses a little closer. I turn my head and touch my lips to her forehead. Her small hand works its way across my abdomen and curves around my side. My hand tightens on her hip, and I feel her smile. Her hand moves back across my stomach, the muscles tightening in response. She lingers on them before slowly traveling lower, her fingertips skirting over the trail of hair that leads to my package.

My hips rotate of their own accord, and I can't stop the low moan that comes rumbling out of chest. Her hand continues lower, her silky skin causing goose bumps to prickle along behind her touch. When she meets the short, wiry hair just above my cock, she pauses. I don't say anything or urge her forward. I want her to move at her own pace.

My heat is thumping so hard I know she must be able to hear it against her ear. She starts moving again, pushing into the nest of curls and sliding down to where I'm already achingly hard. Her touch is cautious at first, driving me mad with desire. Her fingertips skim down my length before grazing across my inner thighs. It's a ghost of a touch that has me clenching my jaw muscles to stop the urge to order her for more.

Slowly, she becomes bolder, her fingertips encircling my swollen head, then dragging down. My chest rumbles with pleasure as she continues to stroke. I turned off the bedside lamp hours ago, so when she lifts her head to stare up at me, her round, blue eyes are darker in the moonlight.

Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and I can practically feel my self-control ripping apart. Then she drags her teeth across the path her tongue just took, and the final shred of restraint I was clinging to unfolds and drops.

I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and tug her up to me. Then I kiss her. Hard. The kiss is wild and sweet all at the same time. The taste of her tongue, the bite of her teeth, the way she moans right into my mouth all work to beat down the last of my resistance. When she breaks away from me, her pupils are blown wide, dark with desire. I drag my fingertips across her shoulder and press my lips to her collarbone. She's shaking, and when I softly bite down on her smooth skin, she whimpers. Fuck. I love that sound.

She runs her hand up my dick and squeezes. "Daryl?"

"Yeah, baby?" I move back toward her neck, peppering her skin with kisses.

I nip at her earlobe with my teeth and she gasps. "I want you. Now."

"You aren't too sore?" I ask, my voice so deep and thick I don't even recognize it.

She shakes her head and bites that damn bottom lip. I fling a hand out and feel around the bedside table until my fingertips graze the corner of a small foil packet. I bring it up to my mouth and tear it open with my teeth. She sits back to watch me as I smooth it over the tip of my erection. Then I take her hand and guide it down with mine, rolling the latex down over me.

Hooking my hands under her arms, I lift her, pulling her over my body, until she's straddling my waist. I skim along the inside of one thigh until I feel the slick heat of her core. I circle her clit with my thumb and suck one nipple into my mouth while I graze the other one with my thumb.

"I don't know how," she starts to blurt, then snaps her mouth shut. "I mean, this position—I've never . . ." Her voice falls away when I rock against her center.

"I know," I whisper. "Just trust me."

She nods, lifting a little, as I position myself her entrance. I lean back and palm her tiny waist, slowly guiding her down, inch by inch.

When she's fully seated, her head falls back and she purrs, "Ohh, that feels good."

Smug satisfaction threatens to bust wide open when I catch sight of the blissful look on her face. She starts rocking without any kind of instruction. Her hips roll and move in perfect cadence with mine. I push my palms up the curve of her hips and over the bumps of her ribs until I reach her breasts. I graze the pads of my thumbs over her nipples, and I'm rewarded with a low moan.

Her body is on full display, bathed in the moonlight filtering through the window and occasionally lit up by lightning from the storm. I feel my breath catch in my throat. She is so fucking beautiful.

Intimate feelings, strange and foreign feelings, threaten to overwhelm me as she moves on top of me, her hands clutching my chest. I absorb her warmth, her vitality, her scent. It's almost too much—everything I feel for her. It's fucking terrifying.

Every cell in my body is stripped and completely raw; every nerve stands at attention. I watch her mouth fall open and her eyes close. She braces her hands on my shoulders, her fingernails biting into my skin. She whispers my name, her hair falling over her shoulders, her lips swollen from my kisses. I move my hands to her hips and squeeze, thrusting up to match her movements.

She puts a palm on my chest and leans forward, so she can look down to where I'm driving in and out of her, shiny with her slickness. Watching her, watching us, makes the muscles of my abdomen tighten, and I start to feel that perfect resonance unfurl around us.

Abruptly, I sit up and drag her back until my shoulder blades are braced against the headboard and our bodies are rubbing against each other from shoulder to thigh. I jerk my hips up hard and fill her completely. She spreads her thighs wider, so I can drive deeper as her legs automatically link around me.

Her breasts press against my chest and her forehead falls to my shoulder. I put my fingertips on her chin, urging her to tip her head back. "Look at me." My voice is soft, but it's a command, and she obeys.

I know she's close. I can feel it in the way she tightens and trembles around me, and I can see it in the wild desperation of her eyes. But for some reason, she won't let go. She's clinging to the cusp of her orgasm like she's afraid to give in, and I know she's gonna need a little push.

I shift her body, tilting her hips back the slightest bit, so I can thrust into her deeper, harder. I reach down and find her clit with my thumb. My words work her up just as much as my touches do, but I start slow. "Does this feel good?"

I jerk my hips up, then slow the circling of my thumb, and she makes a noise of frustration, her eyes flying to mine. I press my lips together to stop my smile. "Answer me."

"It feels good." She reaches for me, her fingernails digging into my biceps as I give her what she wants and press my thumb down on her most sensitive spot. "It feels really good."

A long, loud moan piggybacks on a whimper as her eyes roll back. I press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "Good girl. Now, I want you to come on my cock so hard that you soak us both." She gasps and I chuckle, pressing deeper into her. "Can you do that? Can you come on me?"

My words are her undoing. She crushes her lips to mine, and as if I heard it snap myself, I know she just lost all control. Her moans grow louder as she rubs against me with a new desperation, clawing her way toward release.

My abs start to quiver at the same time I feel her tighten around me. Together we go, to the place where nothing matters but this second. This heat, this need. This blur of colors and feelings. This explosion of things that I can't control, can't even name.

Tiny explosions claim my body, and my mind swirls with one thought, over and over: _her, her, her_. Then my vision goes dark and only comes back in silver pinpricks of bursting light.

Her limp body falls against my chest, both of us still pulsing together. It's a long minute before I can form a complete thought, and I'm vaguely aware that one of us is shaking.

We topple over, both of us winded and covered in a sheen of sweat. She rolls over and reaches for the glass of water beside the bed. She glances over her shoulder, her bare ass in perfect sight. Before I'm able to harness my willpower, I grin and give her a quick slap on the ass.

An immediate spark of fury flashes through her eyes, but it's quickly replaced by a deep, loud laugh. Soon we're both hysterical, rolling around the bed in each other's arms, a summer storm raging on outside the window, and I have never wanted to lock a moment away forever more than I do this single, perfect one.

* * *

><p>It's still dark out when the lamp beside the bed flickers and goes out. Beth goes tense beside me. It's still storming outside, and I know that when combined with the dark, that makes her very nervous.<p>

I slip out of bed, pull on a pair of boxers, and pick up my t-shirt from where I threw it on the floor, then toss it to her. I pad into the bathroom and flip the light switch, but nothing happens, which means the generators are out of fuel. At the moment, I can't remember who's in charge of filling them. Whoever it is, sucks at their job. Not my problem though. I've got a beautiful woman in my bed. Someone else can deal with this shit when they wake up.

I walk back into the room and dig through the closet until I find a bag with candles. We'd needed them in the beginning, before we figured out the generators and found a steady supply of fuel. Shit's way easier now. That is, when everyone remembers to do their part.

I line the top of the dresser with candles, then fish a lighter out of the pocket of my jeans. Just as I'm lighting the final wick, Beth half-sighs, "This sure beats a prison cell."

I laugh and turn around. The breath I was taking freezes halfway to my lungs.

She's sitting in the center of my bed, the blankets rumpled and piled around her. My shirt is way too big, and the neck is slipping down low over one of her slim shoulders, exposing a wide patch of creamy skin. Her cheeks are pink, and her lips are swollen. The long thick mass of her hair is tangled and messy, falling around her face and down her back.

She tilts her head and looks at me, wrinkling up her nose. "Why are you looking at me like that? Do I look like a mess?"

I shake my head, unable to speak. I never thought this would happen to me. I never thought I would care about someone so much. So fast. But seeing her sitting there, taking up so little space in my bed but so much room in my chest, it's sorta something I can't deny.

I cross the room and tug the shirt over her head without saying a single word. I kiss each of her ribs and massage her back and thighs before making love to her with all the tenderness she deserves.


End file.
